


we're professional.

by WhereverMyWay



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Age Difference, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canada, Angst, Art Student Seo Changbin, Artist Lee Minho | Lee Know, Changbin is 21, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Minho is 31, Profanity, Slow Burn, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28069320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhereverMyWay/pseuds/WhereverMyWay
Summary: Lee Minho, or Minho: The Heartless, is a famous artist, which comes with an annoying entourage of paparazzi that are very invested in his life.Two years ago, a piece at UBC's annual student's exhibit catches Minho's eye: "arranged: in black", a series of greyscale paintings crafted by sophomore Seo Changbin. Minho talks with Changbin at length for hours, then offers to help him financially if they pretend to date for a while, so Minho can please the press. Naturally, a walking exhibit of the "starving artist" stereotype, Changbin accepts the offer wholeheartedly.There are no strings attached: Changbin can leave at any time. Hell, Minho doesn't even ask him for sex in exchange for the money, just companionship and occasional skinship. Changbin knows that Minho is emotionally damaged from several bad relationships in the past, so to have someone pay him just for providing them company is nice. Sure, he could go off and date someone and work on settling down, but he just doesn'twantto. Minho is too interesting, too valuable.Eventually, something's gotta give. When it does, it could potentially damage their relationship and careers forever.
Relationships: Lee Minho | Lee Know/Seo Changbin
Comments: 68
Kudos: 118





	1. sophisticated

**Author's Note:**

> **disclaimer: this is a work of fiction!** any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! welcome to my self-indulgent minbin fic that just kinda came to me while listening to the weeknd's "[professional](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MpbGkpDBHGU)" (i think joji's music fits better for this chapter, though). this concept means a lot to me, so i hope y'all enjoy it as it unfolds. not quite sure where exactly this story is gonna go (just have a rough outline and major plot points sketched out), but it'll lead to eventual smut that'll be really emotional. strap in for the long haul, friends!
> 
> additional tags this chapter: angst and feelings, but that's what you're here for, right?
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **10 march 2021 note:** before i post chapter four, i'm working on editing chapters one through three (just minor things, not plot-related). i've gone through and edited this chapter for grammatical reasons, including tense adjustments. i've also added a few little extra details, but nothing that'll change the story drastically.

“I can’t accept this.” A young, blue-haired man opposite a middle-aged brunette pushed an open envelope across the table. “It’s too much. You’ve already given me so much this month, I couldn’t possibly accept any more.”

“Changbin,” the brunette smirked, bringing the crystal glass of wine up to his mouth, resting the glass against his lip. “Please, don’t insult me. I’m not offering this just off the cuff. Besides, it’s not  _ just _ cash that’s in there.”

The bluenette frowned as he brought his gin and tonic to his mouth, taking a careful, prescribed sip as he watched the older man cautiously. He let the gin burn its way down his throat before he sighed. “So, it’s finally about sex, then. That’s what you want, Minho?” It was dry, but Changbin was joking; they both knew that their relationship was strictly platonic and that it would never turn sexual.

“No, love.” Minho’s expression quickly fell into something more serious and slightly sour. “Not at all. I told you when we first started this arrangement that this wouldn’t turn sexual. You know that.”

“Right.” Changbin cocked his eyebrows up in response, his tone somewhat sarcastic. He brought the glass up again, tilting it and his head backwards, letting the ice slink down and hit him in the nose as he finished off his drink. He set the glass down on to the table, ice settling with a soft clink, before he rolled his eyes up and frowned. “What’s all  _ this _ for, then?” The young man rolled his wrist around, black watch jingling as it shuffled around. He brought his chin down to his right hand, staring at the older man as he tried to study his face. “You’ve really gone all out for this date.”

Minho softly smiled, then mimicked Changbin, mirroring him in the way that he placed his head in his left palm. “It’s been two years, officially.” He made eye contact with a server somewhere off in the distance, and nodded upward. 

“Two years, eh?” Changbin tutted. “Surprising that neither of us have gotten sick of each other, nor found other people to spend time with.” He took in a quick breath, then flashed his teeth with a lazy smirk. “Sure you’re not getting serious with me yet?”

The older man opened his mouth to speak, but quickly receded his statement as a lanky waiter confidently strutted over to the table. “Hyunjin, could you please bring me the bottle of Clos D’Ambonnay I have in the back?”

“Of course, Mr. Lee,” the blonde waiter nodded his head once with a polite smile before he made his way back to whence he came. 

Changbin squinted, knitting his brows together as he shook his head once. “You own this restaurant, too, don’t you?”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t necessarily say  _ own _ it, no.” Minho hums, bringing his index finger in between his teeth as he ponders. “It’s a partnership with an old colleague of mine, Chan; you officially met him at the Vivace Vancouver exhibit over the spring. He had that dreadful red hair, the one where you said he looked like he got electrocuted and then spray painted by an angry ex-lover.” 

The younger man’s eyes went wide as he tried to hold back his laughter. “Oh my god,” he sighed, “I remember that. How do you forget something so audacious, is that even possible?” He regained his composure and rested upright against the back of the chair. “In my defence, though, I was two glasses of Chianti in when I said that.  _ Please _ tell me that his hair isn’t that horrible shade anymore. It was so bad.”

Minho smiled widely and softly shook his head. “No, no,  _ god, _ no. I met with him the day after and told him that he needed to go back to see my stylist immediately and never go back to the hellspawn that butchered his hair.”

“Apologies for the interruption, Mr. Lee,” the lanky waiter from before returned, presenting a black bottle before he placed it on top of the table. “As requested.” He placed well-crafted champagne flutes in front of both Minho and Changbin. 

“Hyunjin,” Minho tutted as the waiter grabbed the bottle, “I’ve told you several times that just ‘Minho’ is fine.”

The blonde waiter half-smiled as he wrapped a hand towel around the cork, deftly wiggling it off with a muffled pop. “And I will tell you each time,” he poured some of the champagne into Changbin’s glass first, “you will always be Mr. Lee when I’m at work.” 

“You’re too stiff,” the brunette gently pushed his glass towards the blonde as he set Changbin’s glass down. “I know that Chan — sorry,  _ Mr. Bang _ — is strict with all of you, to maintain a pristine image,” Hyunjin picks up Minho’s glass and bites his lip as if he’s holding back commentary, “but you’re still in your prime. Bend the rules a little while you can get away with it.”

Changbin watched the way Minho’s eyes fluttered around from the glass to Hyunjin, catching himself getting caught up in the way the light sparkled against his brown eyes, the way his eyelashes painted shadows on his irises. He doesn’t mean for every detail to be etched into his memory, but there was always something about remembering the details of Minho’s soft face that warmed him. If it were any other world, any other person, perhaps he would be catching feelings.

This arrangement, however, was strictly professional. There would never be room for feelings.

Hyunjin set the bottle back down onto the table. “Sure thing, Minho,” he sarcastically scoffed as he wiggled his shoulders in some sort of strange dance of mockery. “Would you like an ice bucket to keep this chilled?”

Minho shrugged, seemingly indifferent, but his expression turned a bit more serious. “I suppose. Don’t worry about us, though. Tend to the other customers first — we’ll be here for a while longer. A bit of champagne slowly warming won’t be the end of the world.” 

“You got it, Mr. Lee,” Hyunjin said with confidence, tipping his index and middle fingers off of his forehead in some sort of joking salute before he spun on his heel and walked off to another table.

Minho grabbed his champagne flute and flashed his teeth at Changbin. “Sorry about that, love, I’ve just gotta give the staff here trouble every now and again.”

Changbin blushed as he picked up his champagne flute, bringing it close to Minho’s. “Don’t apologise.” He tried to restrain his embarrassment, still mentally replaying the way that Minho called him  _ love, _ desperately trying to get the sound to imprint upon his memory. It wasn’t unusual for him to be called by the pet name, yet it still caused butterflies to flutter around inside of him, catching him off guard every time he heard it. “Anyway,” he lifted his head from his palm and stared directly into the brunette’s eyes. “Two years? I can’t believe it’s been this long since I met you.”

“Your  _ ‘arranged: in black’ _ series captured me, Changbin, what can I say?” The older man tilted his head to the side, tugging his lips into a smile. “I still think about it every day.”

“It’s hard to avoid thinking about it when all four pieces are hanging behind your bed, wouldn’t you say?”

“Suppose that’s fair,” Minho bit his bottom lip as he politely refrained from laughing. “But, wow, two years. Two very eventful years. To think, you were a scraggly sophomore two years ago when I met you. You really kind of fit the ‘starving artist’ stereotype back then, hmm?”

Changbin’s eyes subconsciously darted down to the maroon tablecloth. He avoided thinking about his life before he met Minho, since it wasn’t something he was overly fond of. Sleeping for a couple of hours a night after a late dishwashing shift at the restaurant, waking up before dawn to run to his part-time barista job, then somehow getting to class just in time to nearly doze off mid-project sketch, all to repeat it again the next day. The chronic sleep deprivation painted him in an ashy grey, and he perpetually smelled of instant ramen and coffee. 

No. That was in the past. 

He shuddered at the thought of his past life. It was stressful, and he was thankful that Minho came along and offered him some kindness. Most art students either came from wealthy families, or lived in the same shoes that Changbin did. The ones that weren’t from wealthy lineage would probably stay under the poverty line for the rest of their lives, but at least they would be happy creating things that came from the depths of their soul.

For some, including Changbin, it was worth the sacrifice. He knew what he was getting into when he was accepted into the visual arts programme at the University of British Columbia, and he was prepared for the pain and agony it would cause him for the small chance he could make it big while doing something he loved.

“Binnie, love?” Minho’s gentle voice pulled Changbin from his memory. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Changbin nodded his head a couple of times, almost as if he was willing himself to be calm. “Sorry, I just kinda got distracted. Thought about when we first met and kinda got transported back in time.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it was definitely far from the truth.

The older man softly smiled and nudged his champagne flute forward. “Well, here’s to two years of whatever the hell this is. Here’s to however long we have left and to wherever we may go next.”

Changbin smiled, turning his chin slightly inward as he tapped his flute against Minho’s. “I like that. To whatever the hell is next.”

“‘Whatever the hell is next’,” Minho smiled as he brought the flute up to his lips. “That’s a good one.”

* * *

They didn’t get to the bottom of the bottle of champagne until about a half-hour past closing. It had been two years of the same company every Tuesday and Thursday night, and usually most Fridays and Saturdays, yet they still found new things to talk about each time they met. “You’re still so foolishly young and in university,” Minho would scold Changbin over the phone, “so go out and get hammered at a stupid house party and I’ll come by tomorrow and help nurse you out of your hangover.” Minho really was a sweetheart, even if he didn’t want to date and was, to quote Minho himself, emotionally unavailable. 

It had been two years, and Changbin still didn’t fully understand why people were so pressed on calling Minho heartless.

“And so,” Changbin took a sip of water from his glass, setting it down a bit roughly, some of the water sloshing around and splashing onto the table, “I had to sketch a live model, right? Well, it turns out Seungmin makes a horrible model at two in the morning, but we thought the idea was brilliant.”

Minho loudly cackled, throwing his head back and clapping his hands once in front of his face. “You had just gotten done downing several shots at the bar. What made  _ either _ of you think that sketching in charcoal was a good idea?”

The younger man folded over, resting his head in his palms as he tried not to collapse on to the floor in laughter. “The project was due on Monday! And, hey, we got it done, and I somehow got a decent grade in the end.”

“Ah,” Minho leaned back into his chair as he looked up to the wall to his left, smiling as he wiped a tear from his eye. “I’d love to scold you for that, but the truth is, I can’t. I did the same things in uni ten years ago. I just threw paint all over my body and rolled on loose canvas. I hate the piece, but it was well-received. So, hey, you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.”

Changbin rested his chin against the back of his hand, languidly smiling as he watched Minho get lost in past memories. These moments that they shared, where they were just so plainly human — not a famous artist, not a struggling art student, but simply Minho and Changbin — these were why Changbin never sought out another partner. It was unconventional to most people, especially those his age, to have such a hands-off relationship, but it just worked for them. Sometimes, the things that came off the most discordant could somehow still find a way to harmonise, and that was what they did.

“You know, you didn’t totally open the envelope,” Minho points down to the middle of the table with an open hand, as if he were guiding Changbin back to the thick paper. The energy between them had shifted, and the brunette bit his lip, looking somewhat nervous.

Changbin shrugged his shoulders and bashfully looked away for a moment before staring Minho down. “Come on, Min,” he lowered his voice a bit, “I don’t need to know how much you’re giving me, at least not now.”

Minho dismissively waved his hand before nudging the envelope back to Changbin. “It’s not just money, love, I promise. Nothing too domestic, either. Just,” he paused, bringing a finger to his chin as he looked up to the ceiling, “I suppose it’s partially a token of my appreciation? Yeah, that sounds right. A way to tell you I’m thankful you’ve stuck around for so long, even with all of the weird shit we’ve gone through. There’s more to it than that, but that sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I dunno, you’re making this feel like a real relationship,” the bluenette sarcastically mumbled a bit as he gingerly picked up the envelope, squinting a bit at Minho. He opened it, then pulled out a few plastic-like polymer bills: some green, some red. His expression quickly shifted to confusion when he came across papery stationary, the textural difference causing a nerve to spark up in his arm. Stationary.  _ A letter? _ He pulled the light grey paper out of the envelope, eyeing Minho as he opened it. “Really? Getting awfully boyfriend-like on me, Min.”

“Oh, come on, just read it,” the older man tutted, trying to subtly rifle through the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “I promise, it’s not as sappy as it looks.”

Changbin plucked his glasses from the table, wiggling the temples to fit just behind his ears, then cleared his throat. He tried to swallow down the smirk on his face as he mocked Minho’s intonation and speech. “My loveliest Changbin,” a laugh crept up from his stomach as he read on. “Every single day, I wake up and I see your  _ ‘arranged: in black’ _ pieces, intricately framed behind my bed, and I’m taken aback by the fact that your mind knows no bounds when it comes to expressing creativity.” The younger man peers over the sheet again, studying the somewhat bored, slightly flustered expression on the elder’s face.

“So I had a couple of glasses of wine while writing, I got a bit sentimental.” Minho fluttered his lips as he rolled his eyes and flicked his wrist. “At least it’s not as bad as last year’s letter.”

Changbin smiled, but quickly brought the paper in front of his face to hide the subtle reddish tint growing on his face, catching the familiar hints of bergamot and sandalwood from Minho’s cologne. “I usually don’t like keeping my own work, as you know,” he continued to read off of the letter, still avoiding eye contact with the brunette, “but the graphite portrait of you, asleep on my bed from your last bout of finals — it holds a special spot in my heart. I love seeing it every time I enter my closet. It’s like there are little reminders of you scattered across my apartment, and across my heart.”

Oh. 

_ Oh. _

There was a warmth that blossomed and grew in Changbin’s abdomen. The warmth reminded him of ivy hanging off of old buildings, quickly encompassing and embracing everything within its reach. It was a strange sensation, and it gave him pause before he continued reading the note. 

Perhaps this was more than sentimental.

There was also the sobering possibility that Changbin was reading too far into things again.

“Changbin?” Minho’s voice pulled the bluenette from the cavern of thoughts he had recessed himself into. “Where did you go?” His tone was firm, distracting Changbin from the fact that Minho had interlaced his fingers between the younger man’s left hand.

This was something they always did. Minho was always touchy-feely, even if it didn’t progress past shirtless embraces as they slept next to each other, or walking hand-in-hand. The way the pads of Minho’s fingertips softly caressed the back of his hand, though, made things seem different. It felt special.

“Your closet.” Realizing he had spent too much time losing himself in between the grooves of Minho’s fingerprints, Changbin sputtered out some words to barely form a coherent thought. “You reminded me that I still have one of your Burberry hoodies lost somewhere in my apartment.”

Minho furrowed his brows for a moment, trying not to get caught up on how distant Changbin’s response was. “The oversized black one? You know I don’t mind if you keep it, Bin.”

“It was nearly a thousand dollars, Minho.” 

The older man scoffed and rolled his eyes a bit, bringing his left hand up to the table, a small brown box of sorts covered up by his palm. “Well,” the brunette squeezed Changbin’s hand a bit, causing them to make eye contact, “when you’re done reading that letter, I’ll be sure to avoid telling you how much your ‘anniversary’ gift is.” Minho winked as he ended his sentence, right when Changbin was thinking about saying something in protest.

“Minho,” Changbin whined, drooping his shoulders a bit as he frowned.

“Changbin,” Minho teased a bit as he mockingly whined in response. “Trust me, it’s not just me spending money aimlessly. It’ll tie into the idea I have in that letter. You know, really make some of those tabloids make us look nice and get off our backs for a while.”

The younger man bit his tongue and scanned his eyes down the letter, trying to find the last spot he had read over.  _ Across my apartment _ , reading the words caused his hands to sweat;  _ across my heart, _ made his stomach clench. Domestic and soft, exactly what they were, but also, somehow exactly what they were not. He continued reading off the letter, but his memories started creeping up during the empty gaps between sentences.

There was the callous bite to Minho’s tone during their first real meet-up. “Our arrangement is for mutual gains: you’ll be able to live comfortably, and I’ll get the press off of my back. You won’t be a starving artist, and I’ll no longer be ‘Minho, the Heartless’. We’re professional boyfriends: all of the benefits, none of the downsides, like feelings.” His bony hands felt cold, like ice, when they shook hands to confirm their arrangement. Changbin had felt in over his head then, but he knew he didn’t have anywhere else to turn.

In contrast, there was the night that Changbin had recently stayed over at the end of October. They had gotten back shortly after one in the morning after celebrating Minho’s thirty-first birthday with a handful of his friends and several well-renowned professional artists and gallery owners. Sure, Changbin had been Minho’s quote-unquote “boyfriend” for the night, but it benefitted his art career a bit, just to branch out and connect. None of that had mattered, though, because the best part was when they had gotten half-undressed and passed out on Minho’s duvet together, giggling about how some of the attendees thought ‘artist’s birthday’ meant ‘licence to dress as insanely as humanly possible’. The one-on-one time was always what Changbin looked forward to the most: that soft, personal connection with another person on such a raw, human level.

That was the weekend he borrowed Minho’s black, oversized Burberry sweater to wear home. Changbin felt guilty for lying earlier, but he didn’t want his professional partner to know that he knew  _ exactly _ where it was: curled up next to his wall in his bed. The soft scent of bergamot and mandarin of the Dior Sauvage that Minho wore on his wrists and in the divots of his clavicles had slowly started to fade into hints of vanilla and sandalwood. While he knew that his arrangement with Minho wouldn’t last forever, he wanted to live in the moments that made him feel like he was in a true, caring relationship. He had a friend in Minho, he truly did. It would probably hurt like hell when they eventually decided to move on from their agreement, but the little things mattered so much to him right now.

_ Strictly professional. _ Changbin would remind himself every night as he curled up into Minho’s sweater, remembering the way Minho’s arms felt warm on his back and on his shoulders, how soft his manicured fingers were when they fit perfectly in between Changbin’s.  _ We are not real boyfriends. _ The sweater would catch his inevitable tears as he lost himself in the confusing haze they had painted themselves under.  _ Business dynamic. _ This was the price he would pay to get into the elusive elitist art world.  _ We have to be professional. You have to be professional and reserved, Changbin.  _

Even if it cost him his sanity.

“Did I just read that correctly?” Changbin’s voice was alarmed, and he frantically re-read the words on the paper before darting his eyes around nervously. Minho awkwardly smirked as Changbin leaned over the table, dropping his voice to a just-audible whisper. “You want to do  _ what _ to get the press’ attention?”

Minho grabbed the ashy brown jewellery box from the table, letting go of Changbin’s left hand. He opened the box and his expression flattened, his fingertips shaking ever so slightly. “Exactly what the paper says, Bin.” Inside the desaturated box sat a contrastingly bright, rose gold band.

It was a ring embedded with actual fucking diamonds. 

To anyone else, this would be serious. ‘Call your parents, scream at your best friend, even at two in the morning’ levels of seriousness. However, Changbin and Minho were not ‘anyone else’. They were in their own strange, unique bubble where the rules of modern society did not apply to them.

“How about we graduate from professional boyfriends to professional fiancés?” 

* * *

Like most Sunday mornings nowadays, Changbin woke up to the scent of freshly-brewed coffee. Minho may have travelled to fancy galleries across the world and tried extravagant blends of coffee during his tenure, but he would always fall back on Starbucks’ blonde roast for his morning routines. “Why bother going through all of the effort of getting my hands on something overly fancy from Europe? I have yet to be let down by this one, and it’s been over ten years since I started drinking it. Why stop now?”

The logic made sense, really, and the coffee wasn’t bad.

“The Vancouver Sun’s already got an article out,” Minho excitedly muttered under his breath, setting a sleek ceramic mug down on the nightstand closest to Changbin. He stared at his phone as he made his way back around the bed, causing the mattress to sink as he sat down. “So many people are speculating, like it even matters. If they had really been following me these past two years, they’d know better.”

It was too early for this. Minho was always business as soon as he woke up: endearing in theory, terribly annoying in practice.

Changbin rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as he rolled onto his back, sleepily glaring up at Minho. “You’re loud.”

“And you’re hungover,” the brunette quipped, not looking away from his phone as he smiled at himself. “Drink your water and your coffee, love, you’ll feel better.”

“Whatever,” Changbin grumbled under his breath as he sat up, reaching over to the nightstand. There was a sheen on his left hand that caused him to momentarily lose his breath.  _ Shit. _ He drew his hand into his face to stare at the ring he had conveniently forgotten about overnight. It felt like nothing before he noticed it, but now that he was staring directly at the ring, it felt like the ring was going to cut off the circulation to his finger. It felt like a boa constrictor was tightening around him, making it hard to breathe.

Changbin had every intention to pull himself away from the suffocation of the ring. Instead, he found himself trying to count each small diamond wedged between the two layers of rose gold. A sudden dip right behind him and an arm around his waist literally pulled him from his thoughts. “Min!”

“It’s pretty,” Minho gently grabbed Changbin’s hand, tucking his chin into the younger man’s shoulder. “I didn’t know if you’d like rose gold, but I know you hate gold, and silver’s too simple for you. For a fake engagement ring, seems pretty convincing, hmm?”

As much as he didn’t want to, Changbin sank into Minho’s embrace. Blame it on the fatigue, he figured, but found himself surprised that the older man didn’t pull away. For the shortest of moments, it almost felt like they’re meant to fit together like this. “It’s expensive,” the brunette whispers, “to no one’s surprise, so please don’t lose it.” 

The younger man squinted in disapproval. Like everything, it had to be expensive — top of the line and probably designer. “How much was it?”

“It’s impolite to ask a fiancé something like that, you know,” Minho huffed a bit dramatically as he feigned irritation.

Changbin, however, seemed plenty irritated for the both of them. He rolled around, mere centimetres away from Minho’s face as he frowned at the older man. “It’s a good thing this is all fake, then, right? How much was it?”

“Bin,” the brunette’s expression faltered as he cocked his head to the side. “It’s not important, I don’t understand why you’re so—”

Changbin desperately wanted to stay this close to Minho, to drown in his embrace and the warmth of his touch, yet something about this all felt so wrong, like it shouldn’t have been so authentic.  _ Professional. Fake boyfriends, fake fiancés. _ “It’s just for show, I know. Since it’s fake, though, you shouldn’t have a problem telling me, right?” There was a layer of hurt in his voice that he knew he couldn’t hide. He dipped his chin into his chest and closed his eyes, desperate to make all of the confusion and contrasting feelings just stop and go away. Something about this, though, just felt too real, too close to an actual relationship.

What the fuck were they doing? All of this had to cross some sort of unspoken relationship rule somewhere, right? The blurred lines of what was real and what was fake in their arrangement was causing Changbin’s head to spin.

Minho didn’t seem sure about how to handle the situation. The moments passed by in silence until the older man took in a deep breath, then he wiggled his index finger under Changbin’s chin, tilting the younger man’s face upwards. “Hey,” he quietly demanded, “look at me, Bin.”

So, the bluenette did as requested. He stared into Minho’s eyes and instantly softened. 

“If it bothers you that much, I can go out and get something simpler.” Minho’s voice quivered a bit, almost like he felt how uncomfortable Changbin was. “I just… I don’t know what I was thinking when I went out and I got this one. I looked around with the agent for over an hour, and then that one just caught my eye, just as things were looking hopeless.”

Suddenly, Changbin’s hand was in Minho’s again, and the older man stared at the band longingly and with purpose, rotating the younger man’s hand around freely. “I guess I put in a bit too much of a personal flair on this. I really prioritised what I figured you’d like before the importance of keeping up the façade that this is all fake.”

They both stare at the ring for a moment, then look at one another. Neither of them moved, neither of them breathed as they stared at each other with shared panic, concern, worry. There was an unfamiliar emotion that lingered at the back of their gaze, but it was hard to place. Changbin hadn’t felt anything like this before. He was equal parts nervous, nauseated, and lost.

If this were like the romantic comedies that Changbin and Seungmin would watch while hungover, this would be the part where Minho would roll on top of him, say something like “fuck the rules, I just want you”. They would cry and kiss and roll around the sheets together. There would be a swell of uplifting orchestral music in the background, indicating that fate had given its blessing on the couple.

This wasn’t a movie, though. This was fucking reality, and there was nothing but tension in the air and a yearning in the bottom of Changbin’s stomach. Their situation was complex and convoluted and it was going to end in heartbreak for him, and only him. Really, he had no one to blame but himself. 

_ Our arrangement is for mutual gains. _ Minho’s voice was so loud.

_ We’re professional boyfriends. _ It was sour.

_ All of the benefits, none of the downsides, like feelings. _ It hurt as it echoed in Changbin’s head, but Minho’s voice was all he wanted to hear.

Feelings. 

_ Feelings? _

That was when it hit Changbin: he was, and had been, falling for Minho — Minho, the (supposedly, yet to be proven) Heartless — and he couldn’t stop himself, no matter how stupid he knew it was. Perhaps the most terrifying part of this, though, wasn’t the fact that Minho didn’t feel the same way. 

No, the most terrifying thing was that Changbin couldn’t tell if Minho was  _ actually _ interested in him or not. Minho always felt strongly one way or another. For them to sit here, struck dumb in silence, was unnerving. The silence meant uncertainty.

It meant  _ possibility. _


	2. concealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two nights: one containing a lie, the other containing a truth. Both end up changing Changbin's life, but is it for the better?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **chapter song recommendation:** "[sweetest kill](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2g77t_CnYM8)" by broken social scene.  
>  **chapter tags:** heavy angst this go, implied masturbation, alcohol, just two bros being fucking idiots with each other’s feelings what’s new?, snow. :)
> 
> * * *
> 
> **updated minor things (grammar, tenses) 10 march 2021**

There were two nights that changed Seo Changbin’s life forever, both involving his best friend, Seungmin. The first night that changed his life was the night of his sophomore showcase. 

It was the night where Seungmin lied.

* * *

_ “‘arranged: in black’ _ is a stupid name for this set, isn’t it?” Changbin stood in front of the bright white wall, his posture slightly askew. He stared at four small square canvases with a silhouette painted in varying shades of black and white oils, trying to convey the varying degrees of grey he felt his life was consumed in. The canvases tilted to the left, he tilted to the right. 

Something didn’t fit: was it the art, or the artist?

A young, neon pink-haired man behind him loudly snapped his gum right in Changbin’s ear and hummed loudly as he stared at the paintings. “Sounds pretentious.”

“Oh,” Changbin raised his eyebrows and gave the man a cocky look. “Yeah, and a self portrait painted in watered down red wine with the name  _ ‘Dead Energy’ _ isn’t pretentious? Come  _ on, _ Seungmin.”

Seungmin shrugged, turning back around to adjust the aforementioned painting on the wall behind him. “You asked for my opinion, dude.”

Changbin took a step towards his paintings, making the most minute adjustments to how they were situated against the wall. “No, I asked you if it was a stupid name. Not for you to give me your terrible opinion.”

“Okay,” Seungmin drawled out, as if he were about to prove a point, “then, fine, it’s a horrible name and I think you should change it.” To anyone that didn’t know the dynamic between Seungmin and Changbin, the banter may have come off harsh, but this was what worked best for them. 

“Well,” Changbin rolled his eyes at his friend as he laughed. “I think your opinion sucks and I’m in too deep to go and fix my placards.”

In all honesty, Changbin had been looking for an excuse to change the name of his set. Seungmin’s reassurance, while masqueraded as an insult, helped give him the small amount of encouragement he needed to believe in the project, name and all. 

Later that night, Changbin was aimlessly chatting with Seungmin when two well-dressed men walked past them. One was a blonde that dressed in a simple black suit set, similar to the art professors: stylistically flat, but professional. Deliberately plain, so as not to distract from the art on display. 

The other, however, caught Changbin’s eye. His aura was distracting Changbin from his conversation. The man, perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties, had dressed like  _ he _ was a piece on display: everything placed on him was deliberate and purposeful. He was wearing a graphite turtleneck, a single earring that had a shiny silver safety pin and chain dangling from his earlobe, and a rose gold necklace adorned with a skirt-shaped onyx that nestled into the middle of his clavicle. He even wore fake, half-rimmed black glasses. Everything about him screamed out-of-place, yet oddly intriguing and untouchable. 

“Wait a sec, Chan,” the intricately decorated man paused, taking a step back as he found himself unable to tear his eyes off of Changbin’s paintings. The strange man approached the canvases, and it made Changbin start to sweat. The way that the brunette pored over his work was different than the way his classmates or professors looked at it. 

This strange man was  _ analyzing _ his work, not just staring beyond it. 

“Oh no,” Seungmin muttered, his expression dropping as he watched the two strange men hover in Changbin’s area. 

“What?” Changbin nervously rubbed his thumbs into his palms and tried to stay composed. “Why did you say ‘oh no’? Seungmin, dude, what?”

The pink haired man stood in awe and shook his head. “You’re fucked, man,” he turned away, trying to get Changbin to stop staring. “Dude, I think that’s The Heartless.”

The black-haired man squinted in confusion. “‘The Heartless’? What the hell are you talking about? What does that have to do with me?”

Seungmin rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh. He leaned in, trying to make it less obvious that they were staring. “He’s brutal, that’s all I know. He’s a famous artist that’s got a lot of power in every gallery in Vancouver, owns all of the galleries in Victoria, helps manage several in Montréal and Toronto…” His voice tapered off as the both watched the two strange men observe Changbin’s paintings. “He’s really harsh on artists, even those that have work in his galleries. You’re fucked.”

“Shut up,” Changbin grumbled under his breath, digging his elbow into Seungmin’s rib cage. If it were anyone less intriguing, Changbin would never have let his body move on its own, drawn to the stranger like a magnet. Once he had gotten back into his own area, he lost all confidence he had somehow mustered up, the fancy brunette turning around at the sound of footsteps. 

“Can I help you?” The brunette’s voice was cold, arrogant. Fitting, based on his appearance. 

Changbin froze, trying to stutter out some sort of introduction. He could practically  _ feel _ Seungmin cringing from a few metres away. 

“Oh,” the mysterious man pointed over his shoulder, “you created these, didn’t you?”

It felt like all of the air in the gallery had been sucked through a vacuum. Everything was dreadfully silent. Changbin could only meekly nod twice, swallowing hard as he tried not to show panic on his face. 

“Figures. The aura just kind of… fits.” The man turned back around, bringing his index finger between his teeth as he pondered. 

The blonde man next to the stranger smirked, eyeing the paintings, then the brunette. “You’re not really going to—“

A hand came in between the brunette and the blonde, as the well-dressed man haphazardly drew his fingers out towards his compatriot. “Hush.” His gaze on the paintings remained unbroken as his eyes fluttered around each of the four small canvases. “Tell me,” he cleared his throat, looking at the placard stuck up next to the bottom right canvas, “Changbin, why did you pick the name  _ ‘arranged: in black’ _ for this set?”

Changbin had a habit of being a bit too brash when he was nervous, almost as if it were a coping strategy for stressful situations. “Do you want the fake answer or the real one?”

The blonde sucked some air in through his teeth, deliberately looking away from the situation, biting back a smirk. 

The brunette with the fake glasses raised an eyebrow, then slowly turned his head to make eye contact with the student, his gaze intimidating and strong, like a criminal investigator. “So, you have two reasons. Interesting.” He licked his bottom lip, then folded his arms across his chest. “I want the boring answer first, then the fun answer. If I can guess the true answer, then I’ll surprise you.”

Despite the fact that Changbin was terrified, he managed to shake his nerves out as he folded his arms, mirroring the strange man in front of him. “The boring answer is that I liked the way it looked on the placards.” The stranger cocked his head to the side, clearly unimpressed with that response. 

“The interesting answer is,” Changbin looked past the brunette as he casually walked over to his canvases, adjusting them to be neat and orderly again. “It’s how I arrange myself to best fit the way I blend in during any situation at hand.” He turned his torso a bit towards the brunette, but did not move closer, afraid that the stranger would smell his vulnerability and tear into him like a vulture. “How much white do I need to make my black match the graphite shade of your turtleneck, how much black I need to blend together with white to make the sterling silver shade of your safety pin earring. How much I need to arrange myself to conform. Hence,  _ ‘arranged: in black’.” _

There is a very long, drawn out pause between the two of them, and Changbin panics for a moment, worried he had said the wrong thing. The stranger chewed on his index finger as he studied Changbin’s face, pondering something while hiding his true expression. Seungmin took a step forward, but quickly rescinded it as Changbin looked up at him and squinted. 

Suddenly, the brunette perked up with a devious grin. “Cat eyes.”

Changbin made contact with the stranger again, cocking his head to the side in confusion. “Cat eyes?” He repeated, slowly and carefully. 

The stranger took a step forward and offered his hand out. “My name is Minho, from the Lee family; my family has an extensive hold on galleries across Canada. I’ve been all over thanks to what we do, but Vancouver and its eclectic artists refuse to relinquish me from its talons.” His face fell for a moment, then he offered a soft, albeit somewhat fake smile. “I want to buy these paintings from you. The character, the brutal honesty behind them is something I don’t see in many people, much less undergraduate artists.”

“Holy shit.” Changbin could hear Seungmin’s quiet interjection from afar. He looked down to Minho’s thin, bony hand, then accepted it without thinking. He desperately needed the money, and the attention and influence Minho had would likely help him financially in the future.

Minho’s hand was cold. “Changbin. Seo Changbin, as I’m sure you’ve gathered.” He firmly shook Minho’s icy hand, then shook his head in disbelief. “You seriously want to buy my paintings?”

A genuine smile spread on Minho’s face. “Absolutely.” He pulled out a thin wallet from his back pocket, rifling his fingers around it as he nodded at the blonde. “Chan, you’ve got a pen, right?”

“Yeah,” the other man reached inside of his jacket, pulling out a weighty-looking pen. He presented it to the brunette, who accepted it with haste. Minho took a step towards the fake wall, pulling a card from his hand, then proceeded to write something on the back of it. 

As he turned around, he held his hand out towards Changbin, card tucked neatly between his index and middle fingers. The younger man took it, shoving it into his back pocket a bit haphazardly without looking it over. As Changbin fumbled with the card and his pocket, Minho took a few steps closer, lightly grabbing on to Changbin’s upper arm as he leaned into his ear. “Text me in a half hour. We can talk more later.”

The touch, accompanied by the way Minho’s breath danced on his skin, had Changbin going mad, nerves alight and vibrating with anticipation.

As quickly as Changbin registered the words Minho says, the mysterious brunette and blonde duo disappeared, off beyond a white partition holding up a classmate’s draped canvas. “What the fuck was that?” Seungmin whispered in shock as he approached Changbin.

“That was Lee Minho,” the black-haired man breathed, a relieved, yet nervous, grin curling up on his face. “He actually wants my paintings. I don’t know why, but I’ll take it as a win.”

* * *

As requested, Changbin sent off a text to the number written on the back of Minho’s business card. The young man bit his lip as he moved to tuck his phone into his back pocket, broken glass catching on the tip of his trouser pocket, but it vibrated in his hand before he could fully hide it away. “That was fast,” he sighed while he unlocked his phone. 

> 20:46 | Unknown Sender: I’ll be there soon. Alone.   
>  20:46 | Unknown Sender: I’d prefer it if you were alone, too.

Changbin’s heart skipped at the possible intention of Minho’s text message. Should he have shooed Seungmin away, against the younger man’s protests? Probably not, but he figured that it was a public area, and Minho likely wouldn’t do something shady. 

...probably.

He aimlessly nibbled at his bottom lip as he stared at some of the mistakes on his paintings, likely imperfections that his mind was hallucinating to keep him busy. Why exactly was such a well-renowned artist interested in such simple paintings, anyways? 

“They’re quite lovely,” Minho’s voice crept up, startling Changbin. The brunette didn’t react to Changbin’s visceral response, instead engrossing himself further in the brushstrokes that blended black and white into shades of muted grey.

“You startled me,” Changbin mumbled, regaining his composure. He stared at the same spot that he assumed Minho was looking at, noticing that there was an extra stroke of thin black in a sea of deep grey, somewhere it shouldn’t have been. His brow furrowed in irritation as Minho turned to meet his gaze.

The older man bit back a smile. “You’re looking for every imperfection, aren’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not really,” Minho turned away from Changbin, folding his arms as he let his eyes slowly scan every individual canvas. “I just know from personal experience.” He gingerly reached his lean fingers out to the corner of one of the canvases, causing Changbin to tense in anticipation. “Pouring your soul into something for hours, days — hell, even weeks and months for some projects — only to find everything possibly imperfect with it as soon as it’s presented to the public.” Minho delicately nudged the corner up a bit, evening out the canvas so all four looked even.

Changbin unclenched his fists, feeling sweat bead at his brow as he looked at Minho. The older man turned his head slightly, looking down at the black-haired man, scanning his appearance. 

“When was the last time you ate something that wasn’t ramen or something frozen? You’re as grey as your silhouettes.”

The question was jarring. Did Changbin really look that unwell? “I mean,” he awkwardly moved to scratch the back of his head. “I usually have leftovers from the kitchen at work every night, so, last night, probably?”

Minho frowned in response. “Here I thought the ‘starving artist’ trope was just an aesthetic you were going for, match the grungy brushstrokes of your painting.” He dug into his pocket and spun on his heel. “Come on, we can discuss this somewhere a little bit more appropriate.”

Changbin knew all of the things he risked following a stranger — a well-known stranger that likely had many connections — away from the UBC campus, away from the same area of town he had been so familiar with for two years. He threw caution to the wind as he stepped into Minho’s black Tesla. 

There was an air of relief that washed over Changbin as he watched Minho input directions towards downtown Vancouver. However, that relief turned into nervousness as he really took in the interior of the car. Everything about it screamed everything that Minho was, and Changbin was not: confident, financially stable, mature. 

“What about your friend?” Changbin questioned, offering some polite conversation to ease a bit of the awkward silence as they left UBC.

The brunette rolled his neck a bit, adjusting his seatbelt. “Chan? He drove here himself. We’re at subzero temperatures and he still wants to ride his stupid fucking motorcycle.” Minho laughed once, then the awkward silence came back with a vengeance.

Something wasn’t adding up, and it caused an uneasy ball of tension to form in Changbin’s stomach. “Why didn’t you tear into my paintings?” The younger man nervously blurted out as they drove down Fourth Avenue, not thinking before he spoke yet again.

Minho smirked as he looked over his shoulder, merging into a different lane. “So,” he chuckled as he turned back around, “I take it you’ve heard the rumours, then?”

“‘Minho, the Heartless’, yeah.” Changbin intertwined his fingers together, staring down at the way he was rubbing his thumb against his hand. “My friend Seungmin told me a bit about you before I approached you. That you’re brutal towards new artists, and even those that have their works on display in your galleries.”

“Figures,” the brunette tutted, rapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “That’s not…” he paused, squinting a bit as he took in a breath, “that’s not the real reason I’m labelled as ‘the heartless’, but it plays a key factor into it all.”

Changbin looked up, taking in the side profile of the man, watching the way passing streetlights would highlight his face in a warm shade of orange, contrasting with the harsh blue lights of the car’s displays. 

“Rumour has it,” Minho brought his arm up to the door, then rested his head against his fist, “that I’m too cold to everyone. I’m rude to my clients, to my patrons, hell, that I had to have been brutal to my exes, because they never stuck around.” He tried to stifle s scoff into his fist. “Look, Changbin, I’m going to be honest.”

As they neared Granville Island, the warm yellow street lights turned into cold, blueish white LEDs that matched the lights in the car. The ball of tension in Changbin’s stomach expanded, constricting his lungs and causing his chest to tighten.

Minho tilted his head to the side, just enough to peer at Changbin over his false lenses, then back to the road. “I’m not interested in dating. I don’t do…” he paused, spinning his fingers into an awkward circle to help him find the right word, “relationships in general: professional, personal, I try to avoid it all. Honestly, I just don’t like people.”

Somehow, Changbin was partially relieved, but that had left him with more questions than answers. 

“I’ve been burned by too many artists in the past, so don’t take it personally. But,” Minho paused and shrugged his shoulders, “your paintings pulled me in, made me want to get to know you just a little more. Maybe have you as a model for a sketch or two, buy that set of yours, help you out financially a bit. You know, student and mentor.”

“I couldn’t…” Changbin frantically interrupted, but lost his confidence quickly. Taking on too many shifts at the restaurant was killing him. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept for more than three or four hours a night. There was no way he had it in him to turn down such an opportunity, even if it hurt his pride a bit. Even if it meant he was getting into something potentially risky.

Minho smiled as Changbin went silent. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you for anything weird or sexual. I just have this itching feeling like I’m not giving back to the community that propped me up when I was low. You don’t have to give me an answer tonight or even tomorrow. Let’s just celebrate your talent and get you something that will give you more than just salt and simple carbohydrates.”

They spent their first unofficial date getting to know each other. Minho was 29, had lived in Vancouver for most of his life. He did his first two years of his Bachelor’s of Fine Arts at the University of Toronto, then came back to Vancouver when the vibes of Toronto stopped meshing with him. “It’s a hellhole, really,” Minho kept the prongs of his fork between his teeth as he reminisced. “Clearly, so is Vancouver, but at least Vancouver somewhat feels like home.”

Changbin shrugged his shoulders, still a bit tense. He felt like he didn’t fit in at this high-end restaurant. The large plates with small amounts of food distracted him too much, like it was a mockery of how the wealthy always had to over-embellish even the smallest things in their possession. 

“You’ve lived here your whole life, right, Changbin?” Minho set his fork down on the tablecloth, then clasped his hands together and rested his chin on the bridge his fingers made. The overhead spotlight illuminated his brown hair, highlighting the undertones of orange and black in certain spots. There was something that kept drawing him back in, acknowledging how attractive Minho was as he proudly wore his confidence. If Changbin was ever going to be interested in dating again, he would have considered Minho as a potential suitor.

Dating, however, was something Changbin wasn’t sure he’d ever be interested in doing again. Everyone thought that he and Felix would stay together forever, since that’s what high school sweethearts should do, and Changbin agreed for the longest time. He agreed with the sentiment, until he found one of their classmates in the bed he shared with Felix. 

Love was dead, and Changbin believed it should stay that way. 

“Vancouver?” He perked up, taking a sip of water from his glass, awkwardly looking away from Minho’s gaze. “Yeah, mostly. Lived in Nanaimo for a couple years until my parents split and my dad moved back here. I missed it too much to stay away.” It was mostly the truth, but that wasn’t relevant. Why bother spilling any more information on someone he barely knew?

“Interesting.” The way that Minho squinted at him, staring him up and down, stayed in Changbin’s mind for too long. There was a methodical, yet mindless way that Minho grazed his teeth against his bottom lip when he listened to Changbin ramble something off. If something he did really enraptured Minho’s attention, he would bring his index finger between his teeth and nod his head a couple of times. 

Minho was attractive, not because of his physical features, but because of the way that he drank in the way that Changbin interacted with him. It was one-sided and a bit foolish, but that was the fun of it. He could toy with the idea of it in his head, flirt with the idea of what ifs, with none of the repercussions or demands of an actual relationship.

At the end of the night, when Minho dropped Changbin off at his dorm nearly two hours later, the younger man agreed to see him again the next weekend, where they’d discuss the more technical agreements of their arrangement.

Tonight, however, Changbin would let ideas run through his head, ideas of how Minho’s voice would sound in his ear, how his breath would brush up on his neck, and how his fingers would dance over his body. The black-haired man sighed as he nestled himself in between his sheets, allowing his mind to creatively extrapolate on some details as he hooked his thumbs into his waistband. 

Nothing else mattered tonight. 

* * *

The second night that changed Changbin’s life was the Sunday night after the fake engagement story went live.

It was the night where Seungmin told the truth.

* * *

“Look, dude,” Seungmin frowned as he sat on the opposite side of Changbin’s couch. “I wanted to say something a while ago, but I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. I just… I knew. It was obvious. Changbin,” he paused, trying to duck into the bluenette’s line of vision, “you’re in love with Minho. It’s kinda gross, not gonna lie. I haven’t seen you this infatuated over anyone in years. Genuinely thought you were gonna die alone with me or something.”

Changbin brought his knees up to his chest, staring aimlessly at his fingernails, like he could get lost in the sunsets hidden away in his cuticles, anything to avoid actually addressing how he was starting to feel over Minho. He could ignore it, hope that everything would go away, hope that Seungmin was just wrong and overanalyzing.

“Come on, Binnie, it was going to happen eventually,” Seungmin’s voice was quiet, like he was afraid of how Changbin would react. He leaned in, resting a hand on the bluenette’s arm. “Changbin.” The older man sucked his cheek in between his teeth as he pensively looked up at his friend. “This is gonna go one of two ways, probably. You’re either going to keep going through with all of this, say nothing, then end up heartbroken years down the line when he wants nothing to do with you out of the blue. Or…”

“Or?” Changbin tipped his head down, wincing as he looked at the younger man.

Seungmin sighed, shaking his head and closing his eyes. “You can risk it. Tell Minho you care about him, more than you agreed upon initially. See what his reaction is, probably suppress some of the inevitable heartbreak.”

The bluenette stared down at his hands, gaze getting caught in the pinkish groove between two of the diamonds in his new ring. How much distance was there between the gap of ‘friendship’ and ‘lovers’, between ‘casual’ and ‘professional’? “You think it’s a bad idea, don’t you?” He didn’t look away as he timidly questioned Seungmin. The question felt rhetorical as the words left his lips.

Seungmin ran a hand through his auburn hair, then grabbed Changbin’s wrist as he softly smiled. “I want you to be happy.”

“So, you  _ definitely  _ think it’s a bad idea,” Changbin laughed as he sank into the couch.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Seungmin laughed in kind, playfully slapping Changbin’s arm. “I think it’d be a bad idea if you didn’t tell him. I don’t know him very well, but Minho does seem to genuinely care about you, from the little I’ve seen, especially over the last year.”

Changbin’s lips fluttered as he sighed in frustration. “That’s the worst part. I  _ know _ he cares, but I don’t have any hard evidence of it. It’s all a gut feeling, and the uncertainty of that just makes me queasy.”

“The ring, though,” the younger man grabbed the hand Changbin wouldn’t stop staring at. “You really think that someone that didn’t care about you would have put in that much effort and money for something like this? For it to all be a fluke?”

Seungmin had a point. He always did: he knew people well, especially Changbin and people that interacted with him. He was the first to suggest that his ex wasn’t as innocent as he came off as, and he was the first to offer a shoulder to cry on when Changbin eventually got burned.

“Look, you should tell him. Maybe tell him after the engagement party, since that’s already all planned out and, hey, free publicity if it fails, I guess.” Seungmin suggested, then pulled Changbin into an awkward, but much needed, hug. “If he rejects you, I’ll help you get a crab pot and we can throw him overboard somewhere far past Vancouver Island.”

They both laughed hard enough to cause tears to roll down their faces. 

“This is why you’re my best friend, Seung. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Seungmin shrugged his shoulders and scoffed. “You’d be bored, but I would be too.”

* * *

Neither Changbin nor Minho sent inane texts to the other throughout the day like they used to. There were a few messages here and there, but an obvious rift had developed between the two of them since the last time they spoke. 

It was stupid, really. Changbin shouldn’t have gotten upset over how much Minho had dropped on a real engagement ring for a fake relationship. Realistically, it was Minho’s money at the end of the day, and Changbin had no right to complain about how he spent it. It just felt so strange that one person had dropped so much money on him for a fake engagement.

“That’s almost as much as my tuition!” The bluenette shrieked when he heard how much the ring was worth. “Five and a half thousand dollars? Minho, what the fuck?”

This was the first time that Minho upset in front of Changbin, the first time where it felt raw and real, like there was a passionate drive behind his anger. “Why are you so obsessed with the cost of this? Aren’t you in this for the money, anyways?”

Changbin shook his head a couple of times, physically taken aback by Minho’s wording. The older man stumbled on his words as he tried to form an apology, but the bluenette pulled away, storming off of the bed. He slipped his button-up shirt on from the night prior and continued shaking his head.

“I didn’t—” Minho sounded like he knew he had fucked up.

“You didn’t mean it, right?” Changbin scoffed, gathering his things as he made his way to the door. “You didn’t mean to indirectly accuse me of just being a whore,  _ right?” _

To some extent, though, it was true. He knew it as the realization sank to the bottom of his heart. There was nothing physical going on between the two of them, just a professional mentorship with financial transactions. There were no budding feelings, especially not when Changbin would wake up to Minho’s soft hands on his shoulders. There were no burning feelings, definitely not when Minho would pull Changbin into a soft, tight embrace as he bid him farewell, lingering a moment too long every time they parted.

_ Strictly professional, Changbin. _ He had to keep repeating it in his head.

If he repeated it enough, that meant it was true, right? 

He consistently reminded himself over the two weeks that had passed, and it felt like it was working, even with the engagement party coming up on Saturday.

“Strictly professional,” the young man sighed under his breath as he stared at his phone, staring down at the reminder that popped up. Tomorrow was the day where they were going to formally announce their engagement at a party downtown in a high-end restaurant that one of Minho’s friends owned.

> 11:30 | Minho: I’m sending over one of my drivers tonight for your final fitting. He should be there not long after you’re out of class, around 16:20. 

Concise. Very professional, just like Changbin would expect from Minho.

> 11:32 | sent: I assume you’re going to be busy with another arrangement so I’m not going to see you tonight either, am I?

It was a bit bitchy, Changbin had to admit, but at least it felt somewhat cathartic to send off. A few bubbles popped up on screen as Minho typed a response, but they suddenly cut out and he didn’t respond. The bluenette shrugged, sighing heavily as he locked his phone and shoved it in the droopy front pocket of his sweatshirt. 

Again, the constant, painful reminder nagged at the back of his head:  _ strictly professional. _

He didn’t get another text message until he was halfway through one of his open studio blocks. Black paint had dripped down from the brush in his hand, splattering down on the floor and onto his Converse as he stared at his phone, somehow narrowly avoiding dropping it to the floor as his jaw dropped.

> 15:02 | Minho: I just rearranged my schedule to make sure I’d go along with you. Might as well make sure that all of the money I’ll drop on a custom fitting for you highlights all of your features in the ways that they deserve.   
>  15:03 | Minho: I want everyone’s eyes on you. It’s as much your night as mine, and you should feel as handsome as you look.    
>  15:04 | Minho: That’s what they say in the movies, right?

Changbin’s eyelids felt heavy and sticky as he blinked rapidly, fully processing Minho’s texts, running them over in his mind, practically hearing his voice whisper in his ear. All of the anger he had harboured over Minho in the past few days dissipated as he set his paintbrush on the side table next to his wooden frame and canvas. He felt like all of the colour faded from his face as he stared at his phone. 

The last text was to ease the tension, a bit of an extinguisher to the fire Minho caused in Changbin’s stomach. He had to know what he was saying and what kind of effect it would have on the younger man, right?

> 15:08 | sent: All of my features?    
>  15:08 | sent: In what ways do they deserve to be highlighted? You’re the master artist, here after all, so I’d love to hear your opinion.

There was a knot in Changbin’s stomach as he sent off the texts. His pulse was elevated, breaths a bit shallower than normal, and he had to lean up against the metal stool that sat behind him. He stared ahead to the painting he was working on, but he wasn’t looking at it as he brought his thumbnail up to his teeth. Yes, he needed to apologise for how he acted the last time they spoke in person, but that seemed so minute right now.

His phone shook in his hand, vibrating twice. With haste, Changbin brought his phone back up, breaking his line of vision to his canvas. His eyes went wide and he slowly sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth as he read over the words several times.

> 15:11 | Minho: Love, you know I’m more of a tactile feedback person and not a wordsmith, right?   
>  15:12 | Minho: All the time you’ve been spending working out — it shows. I notice it when you’re laying next to me, snoring away into your pillow. It’s very… distracting.   
>  15:14 | Minho: It’s only fair that I, the very well-respected and influential artist, make sure that all of your hard work is accented well. Hidden, but merely enough shown off to get people to wonder: who is Seo Changbin? How did Lee Minho manage to get such a talented, attractive person to carry on his arm? To call him his own forever?

This was breaking the boundaries of their relationship dynamic they came up with initially, but Changbin didn’t care. His toe was in the water, and the promise of its warm embrace was too much to turn away, even if it meant he was potentially selling his soul to the devil, ruining his life for a moment of warmth he hadn’t experienced in years. 

> 15:16 | sent: Oh, so it’s just about arm candy, huh?   
>  15:16 | sent: I’m more interested in why you consider me sleeping as distracting, though. Sounding like a bit of a serial killer.   
>  15:17 | sent: Especially when you say that I’ll be yours forever.

Changbin didn’t bother locking his phone, watching the little text bubbles pop up and disappear several times over, groaning a bit each time that they weren’t followed by an actual message. Less than an hour to go until he was done with this block, and he would see Minho. He would be in his car, able to get close and push the limits of their agreement. A hand on the thigh, which was normal, could slowly creep up and in towards the sensitive skin of Minho’s upper thigh.

He didn’t mean to get distracted, but he couldn’t help letting his mind wander. Minho seemed like the type that would feel his partner up in the back of his car, leave bite marks and imprints from their shoulder, all the way up to the back of their ear. Changbin could practically feel the hairs on the side of his neck stand up in response to what Minho’s warm breath would feel like.

A buzz pulled him from his distraction.

Changbin looked side to side in embarrassment, realizing he was practically having a wet dream out in the middle of his studio. Nervously, he cleared his throat and looked down to his phone as he felt his face warm.

> 15:20 | Minho: You’re always more than eye candy, I hope you know that.    
>  15:21 | Minho: I can assure you, I am not a serial killer. Sure, that’s what all serial killers say, but when would I have the time for that? Seems like too much labour.

A disgruntled sigh came up from Changbin’s lungs. Naturally, he was looking too far into Minho’s texts, inserting inappropriate context between the words. Perhaps nearly three years without physical attention from another person was having an effect on his body. He thought about responding, but he didn’t have it in him to craft a witty, yet appropriate, response.

As Changbin stood up and awkwardly shuffled his legs around a bit to adjust the distracting erection building between his legs, he checked his phone one last time before reaching out for his paintbrush, but found himself nearly doubled over as he leaned over the side table with a gasp.

> 13:26 | Minho: Judging by your lack of response, I hope this means you’re being smart and focusing on your studio time, so you’ll ignore this message.   
>  13:27 | Minho: You’re treading water that’s dangerous. I don’t know if you want to dive in and see how deep the water is. Could be cold.

Changbin responded without thinking.

> 13:28 | sent: I know how to swim. I’m not scared.

His hands were shaking with anticipation as he waited for Minho’s response. There was no way he was going to be able to concentrate on painting, so he gradually started rinsing off his brushes and sorting through his supplies. Every ten seconds or so, Changbin would stare at his phone, waiting for it to light up with another message. 

Ten minutes had passed, and he was worried he had fucked up. He had stopped looking at his phone and was, again, staring at his painting. He was just going to leave it up over the weekend, since he would probably just come back to it in the middle of the night on Sunday night, when he normally had a random bout of inspiration hit him.

Unless, of course, the plan of confessing to Minho on Saturday would cause his regular Sunday plans to be pushed back. That would be a worthy sacrifice for his art.

Changbin was about to turn away from his painting when he felt a hand on the small of his back, and a familiar voice creep up into his ear. “I see black is a common theme in your paintings again.” His voice was electric. If Changbin hadn’t practiced maintaining his composure, he would have audibly shuddered and buckled at the sound.

_ Minho.  _

The crafty bastard really showed up early and had the nerve to sneak up on Changbin. Instead of reacting in fright, the younger man leaned into the touch, tilting his head slightly back. “If I recall correctly, you like seeing black in paintings. Greyscale pieces have a history of winning you over.”

“Ah,” Minho sighs, letting his hand slowly move closer and closer to Changbin’s side. “So it’s for me?”

“Engagement present, I think,” Changbin shrugged. “That’s what most couples do, right?”

“Yeah,” Minho whispered, then slowly pulled away from Changbin, “but I don’t think we’re like most couples, hmm?”

Changbin let his eyes flutter shut in frustration. Every two steps forward felt like it was accompanied by one to three steps backward. If he were alone, he would scream into a pillow, but he would just shove it down for now. He turned toward Minho with a fake smile on his face. “So,” he tried to bite back his frustrations, knowing he was coming off as irritated. “Any special reason you showed up early?”

His words sounded innocent enough, but the look on his face sang a different song.  _ Perhaps my texts sparked some curiosity? _

Minho’s eyes darted to the side, his lower eyelids squinting up for a split second. “I really didn’t want to be late.”  _ That’s a lie. _ “Traffic about now can be unpredictable.”  _ Another lie. _ Inbound downtown traffic was busy on Fridays, but not until after 16:30. 

“But you didn’t stay in the car.”  _ Admit you wanted to see me. _

“I’ve come up to say hi before.” Minho leaned onto Changbin’s side table, arrogantly running a free hand through his hair. He was posturing, testing Changbin on something — but what?

Changbin took a cautious step forward, seemingly towards his set of paintbrushes on the table, but ready to pivot to Minho at the first sign he was given. He desperately wanted to be bold with his words, but he couldn’t quite get them to come out right. “You left a meeting early to come see me on a day you hadn’t planned to.” He paused, rolling his eyes up to stare down Minho. “It’s been two weeks since you’ve seen me. I think you left and came here because you miss me.”

This would be the part of the movie where they would run off to the grungy public washroom and haphazardly make out with each other, crying over how ignorant and stupid they had been with each other’s feelings. Perhaps Changbin was projecting a bit of his desires into the idea of their movie life, but, regardless, nothing was happening.

“That’s not inaccurate,” Minho shoved away from the counter, his face warming with a reddish tint as he stepped away, towards the canvas. He feigned interest as he stared in between the strokes of paint that were slowly coming together to form an image. “I suppose I do miss you. I don’t like waking up without you on a Sunday morning.”

_ There’s an easy solution to that problem. _

“I miss your cups of blonde roast Starbucks on Sunday mornings,” Changbin countered, still too afraid of the words he really wanted to say. “You’ve gotten me hooked onto it. I can’t seem to make it the same way you do, and it just doesn’t taste right.”

Minho cleared his throat and checked his wristwatch. He sighed, then turned to look at Changbin with a smile. “Are you almost done packing up?” The smile was fake, like he was hiding something. Again, Minho was always hard to read. “I’d like to leave a bit early, beat any traffic into town, yeah?”

They don’t say much else as Changbin finished packing up his supplies. The walk from the studio to the car was strange, absent any commentary at all. The driver opened the side door, offering his hand out towards Changbin for his bag of supplies, which he handed off with a bit of a scowl. Minho walked over to the other side of the car, opening the door to his side while the driver was preoccupied helping Changbin. 

Within a couple of minutes, they were going down the usual route down Fourth Avenue again, and Changbin’s scowl grew until he couldn't handle the ballooning irritation inside him. He snapped his head over to stare at Minho, shocked to find that the man was already staring at him, albeit a bit distant.

Minho walked his fingers over the empty space between them, then gingerly reached out to touch Changbin’s arm, softly gripping his forearm. “Changbin, love, I’m sorry I’ve been distracted these past two weeks.” His apology felt sincere, albeit stunted. Minho slid his hand down to interlace his fingers in the space between Changbin’s, where everything came together and felt right. “This whole engagement announcement has been stressful, which I know isn’t an excuse. I should have done better to give you some more attention.”

Changbin leaned in a bit closer, perhaps subconsciously being pulled into Minho like a magnet. All of the problems they had two weeks ago were gone, evaporated into thin air. “It’s alright, Minho, you don’t need to apologise.”

“But I do, love.” Just when Changbin thought Minho would drop his guard, he turned his head to the side, staring out of the windshield far in front of them. “I just don’t want to fuck this up. Sure, this is a business arrangement, but I value our friendship.”

To anyone else, the word ‘friendship’ probably wouldn’t feel like the way it sounded when a cat scurried across the keys of a piano. It felt discordant, off-key, and wrong. Still, Changbin was tired of trying. He put on a fake smile, then rested his head on Minho’s shoulder, like he always did on their drives into the city. “Our friendship is nice, Minho. There’s nothing else like it.”

“Right,” Minho calmly breathed as he turned his head away, gazing out of the window.

* * *

“Well,” the tailor stood upright and smiled up at Changbin, “luckily, I don’t need to make any major alterations. I’ll take in a couple of small things just to accentuate the fit on you, make it look nicer.”

Minho sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and trying to hide a coy smile. “Thank you.” His gratitude for the tailor was there, but it clearly was not Minho’s top priority. Changbin watched Minho take in the sight of him, languidly gliding his gaze up from the floor to the top of Changbin’s blue hair.

The tailor excused himself, humming to himself as he left the room, poring over the notes on his notepad. Changbin arrogantly stuck his hands in his pockets, kicking out one of his legs as he bit his lip. “You look like you wanna eat me, serial killer.”

"Maybe I do," Minho teased as he playfully clacked his teeth together. His expression softened as he stood up, slowly making his way around the small podium that the bluenette stood on top of. “You remind me of an intricately designed wedding cake. So sturdy, but embellished just enough to be draped in delicateness.” He stopped in front of Changbin, looking up to him with a soft smile and offering his hand to help him down the steps. “Most importantly, you look handsome. Everyone’s going to be caught up in you, love.” He may not have been a wordsmith, but Minho had to have had an idea of the effects his words had. 

The younger man smiled, then purposefully stumbled a bit on the steps so he could collide his way into an embrace. “Oh,” Changbin sighed, “guess I lost my footing.”

“Guess you did,” Minho took in a quick breath as he smirked, helping reorient the younger man upright. He leaned in, brushing his lips dangerously close to Changbin’s ear as he lowered his voice and whispered. “You should be more careful. I’d hate to see you slip and fall where I’m not around to catch you.”

“Well.” Changbin’s nerves were on fire as he pulled away. He coyly winked at the older man before he turned around, walking back to the dressing room. “Guess I’m lucky you’re my fiancé and you’ll catch me when I fall, huh?”

* * *

The party was a lot more nervewracking than Changbin expected. Eyes were following him around everywhere, and he was constantly cornered by strangers that didn’t actually care about the questions they were asking him. Several people asked him questions that were clearly digs at just getting to know more intimate details about Minho and his personal life. 

Eventually, he found Seungmin over by the bar. He quickly made his way over, grabbing a half-empty bottle of champagne off of the counter with one hand, then Seungmin’s arm with the other hand. “Need you.”

Seungmin interjected with a yelp, turning around quickly and following Changbin without spilling his drink. They made their way through the kitchen, through the back of the building, out to where the line cooks and other staff would run and hide for their smoke breaks. 

“Why are you freaking out, Bin?” Seungmin knew that something was wrong without even asking. He took a sip of his drink, quietly cursing the cold under his breath.

Changbin took a swig of champagne directly from the bottle, wincing at the carbonation and the sting of the alcohol. He coughed twice, then leaned up against the exterior of the building in exasperation. “This is too fucking much,” he sighed, looking up at the way his breath clouded up, then faded off into the night sky. “He knows a lot of people, and they’re all so goddamned nosy.”

Seungmin scoffed, taking another sip of his drink as he walked over to Changbin, leaning up on the building next to him. “Welcome to the lifestyles of the rich and famous. Kind of a shitty price to pay, if you ask me.”

The older man scoffed sarcastically, taking another drink from the bottle in his hand. “Yeah, but like, it wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t like him.”

_ “Love _ him,” Seungmin arrogantly corrected him.

“Shut up,” Changbin rolled his eyes and sighed. “Okay, yeah, so I do love him. Maybe I’ll just keep it hidden.”

He didn’t need to turn his head to know that Seungmin was glaring at him.

“You know that’s—”

“—a dumb idea, yeah.” They stared up at the night sky for a few more minutes, sipping on their drinks of choice until they started shivering from the cold. Seungmin pushed off of the wall, about to say something, but Changbin couldn’t stop his mouth from spouting off his concerns again. “I’m gonna finally tell him tonight, I think. When we go home. I get the feeling he’ll like that.”

“Awfully romantic,” Seungmin shivered as he smiled.

Changbin shrugged his shoulders, bobbing his head back and forth a couple times. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared, though.”

“Changbin,” the false redhead placed his free, cold hand on the shoulder of his friend. “If he rejects you, he’s missing out, and that’s on him, not you. You’re my best friend, so yeah, I’m a little biased, but I know you’re a catch.”

The bluenette smiled, then stood up straight. “Where would I be without you, Seung?”

“I dunno, dead maybe?” They both laughed for a moment, before Seungmin loudly shuddered as he shivered. “Come on, it’s fucking cold. Let’s go back inside, yeah? I wanna drink more of this rich people shit on your fiancé’s dime.”

Changbin smiled in appreciation. His best friend was truly a gift he didn’t deserve. “Yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

* * *

They had been inside for maybe thirty seconds before Minho found Changbin, making a quick beeline towards him, politely excusing himself away from some riveting conversation about how he met Changbin two years ago for the nth time. 

“Changbin, love,” he sighed in desperation as he caught up to the two cold men. “I think we should do the toast soon, because this is beyond exhausting.” Seungmin winked at Changbin before he snaked his way out of the conversation.

The bluenette tried to shove Seungmin’s words of encouragement down as he nodded his head. “That’s a great idea, Minho. Let’s go get this over with, so people stop asking us the same ten questions thirty times in a row.”

“Oh my god,” Minho sighed, colliding his forehead against Changbin’s shoulder. “If I have to answer ‘he’s so unlike your usual friends, how’d you meet?’ one more time, I might lose it and  _ actually _ turn into a serial killer.” 

Changbin rubbed his cheek against Minho’s head, then offered him a quick pat on the back. “We’ll get through it, I promise.”

“I know, I know.”

* * *

The toast had started off normal, seemingly fine. There were pleasantries, Minho gave a brief introduction about himself and the projects he had been working on, giving some half-true, half-bullshit explanation about how he and Changbin met and fell in love. Some of the details of how they fell in love, including how they were in love in the first place, caused discomfort inside Changbin.

“Binnie, love?” Minho’s hand on Changbin’s back brought the younger man back to focus on the conversation. “Maybe you should introduce yourself?” That wasn’t really the question Minho was asking him. The look that the older man gave him was one of concern, as if he were asking him if he was actually alright.

“Right,” Changbin muttered incoherently, grabbing the microphone from Minho. “As you’ve heard, I’m the Changbin everyone seems to be talking about tonight. Seo Changbin.” He pauses, scanning the room for Seungmin, who is giving him a subtle thumbs up with a wince on his face. “Minho and I met at an art exhibit two years ago, where he told me he valued the honesty and the character behind my paintings.”

A couple of people make some sort of half-assed ‘aww’s and ‘ooh’s.

“I was worried about him, since my friend had just given me a crash course on how Minho was supposedly some big, scary art critic. He was so scary, in fact, that he was known as The Heartless. A name, to this day, that I disagree with.” Changbin smiled, looking over to Minho, who returned a soft gaze and delicate smile. The younger man reached his hand out, and they interlaced their fingers together, getting close to the other, until they were practically embracing. 

“I am very lucky to hopefully spend the rest of my life with a man like Minho. He’s not only very artistically gifted, but he’s kind and I do love him from the bottom of my heart.”

While Changbin meant every word he said, he simply read off the words that Minho asked him to memorise the night prior. It was honest, but its intentions were false, which caused a bit of nausea inside the young man. He passed the microphone back to Minho, letting him wrap up the speech with the same banal, inconsequential words he had probably come up with and memorised beforehand. 

The words would sound nice, please the crowd, and get some annoying stragglers off of their backs for the rest of the party. Changbin held his customer service-style smile on his face until he stepped away from the makeshift stage. He made his way towards the kitchen again, trying to rid himself from the people that wanted to insincerely congratulate him. He heard people talking shit about him as he made his way through the crowd, gritting his teeth as certain words like ‘whore’, ‘sellout’, and ‘fake’ seemed magnified and heavier than they were.

Changbin watched a couple of staff members head outside for a break, and he growled in irritation to himself, eventually leaning up against a countertop, pressing his head into his palms. He wasn’t even that upset over one specific thing, it was just a lot of things suddenly compounding, along with the tension of the overall situation.

“Changbin?” Minho’s voice was soft, quiet, as it came through the entrance of the kitchen. “Love, are you alright?”

His brain told him just to say that he wasn’t feeling well, tell some bullshit white lie that they could brush over. His heart, however, spoke up for him. “What are we doing, Minho?” 

The brunette shook his head, then brought his hand up, almost sarcastically. “Announcing our engagement. I thought that was obvious.”

“Not that,” Changbin sucked in a quick breath of air through his teeth. “Put all this to the side for a second. What are  _ we _ doing? How much of your speech was true? A lot of it seemed too hyperbolic and shallow, and it’s not sitting well with me.”

Minho squinted in discomfort, a look of disbelief on his face as he looked at Changbin with confusion. “I’m sorry, what? Was I supposed to tell them that our entire relationship is false?”

_ “Entire _ relationship?” Changbin scoffed, all of the tension from before compiling together, and that was the final straw. “Fuck that. No,  _ fuck _ that.” He pushed off of the counter with frustration, making his way through the back door and past the few staff members and through their cloud of nicotine.

“Changbin, wait,” Minho ran after the younger man, nearly sliding as his shoes came into contact with the icy concrete. “What’s gotten into you?”

The bluenette sucked in air through his teeth as he turned, staring down the older man. His face was contorted into a bitter scowl, and he was visibly shaken. “I don’t fucking understand you, you know?”

“What?” Minho panted, clouds of vapourised breath coming from his mouth, travelling past him on a bit of wind. “What did I say, Changbin?”

There was a scoff that came from Changbin, one that was laden with frustration and a bit of sadness. “You’ve been saying a  _ lot _ lately, Minho, that’s part of the problem.” He brought his hands up to his hair, gently tugging on the strands as he sniffled, partially due to the cold, partially due to his emotions. “I can’t fucking read you.”

“I’m not a book, Changbin,” Minho took another step closer and rolled his eyes, “you can communicate your problems to me and we can discuss them.”

“You’re right. You’re  _ not _ a book, and I believe I’m right in assuming that  _ I’m  _ more than a business deal to you.”

Minho shook his head in disbelief, eyes nervously darting around. “What?” This interjection sounded shocked and breathless, less arrogant and confident than the other interjections came off as.

Changbin knew he shouldn’t ask it, not with how much tension is in the air, and how loaded the question was, but his heart caused him to act irrationally yet again. “Do you love me, Minho?”

There was a gust of cold air that blew between them, causing Changbin to shiver. Minho tried not to notice, but his voice trembled when he repeated the question. “Do I love you?”

Another useless response.

“God, you’re so fucking dense,” Changbin muttered under his breath, angrily taking a couple of steps closer, centimetres away from the brunette now. “Do you want to know something, Minho?” There was a pause after Changbin’s rhetorical question; the younger man felt the warmth of Minho feeding into his energy as he took in a deep breath. “I realised it the morning after the fake proposal. I was upset at how much money you spent on a fake engagement ring, for a fake relationship that was probably going to end within a couple of years, if we’re being optimistic. You put in so much effort for something fake, and I was putting in a lot of emotional investment into someone that I’m supposed to have nothing more than a business deal with.

“I remember talking to Seungmin that night, and he told me straight up. He told me that I was in love with you. Beyond interest, beyond infatuation. Actually in  _ full-fucking-blown _ love, something I didn’t know I was even capable of doing anymore.” A sarcastic scoff punctuated Changbin’s sentence as he licked his bottom lip, looking away from Minho. “I thought it was stupid, that I could shove it down and ignore it. But the truth is, Minho,” he tilted his head back, looking at Minho with a heavy gaze, like he was teetering on the edge of anger and despair, “I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I meant for it all to stay professional, like we wanted it to be, but I can’t do it. I can’t fucking do that anymore, Minho.” 

There was a stutter as Changbin’s deep inhale got caught in his throat. He inhaled once again, and slowly breathed out, before he let the words just fall from him. “I really do think I love you, Minho. I don’t know where to go from here, and I don’t know if you can understand how terrified I am.”

It was obvious that Minho didn’t quite know how to respond. He watched a few tears start to roll down Changbin’s face, breaking down the confidence that was there for a fleeting moment. He instinctively reached up to brush the tears away, causing the younger man to melt into his touch. A couple of rare wintry snowflakes fell in between them, one landing and subsequently melting on Changbin’s nose. “You really think you love me?” Minho softly questioned, his voice coming off as soothing, yet anxious.

Changbin took in a quick breath, shaking his head. “Minho,” his voice cracked as he knitted his eyebrows together, “you and me, we…” Perhaps it was the cold, but Changbin couldn’t quite get the words in his head to form the sentence he wanted to say. That’s when it came to him: there were some times where actions definitely spoke louder and more effectively than words.

A snowflake fell onto Changbin’s bottom lip right before his lips brushed up against Minho’s with a spark. Everything that felt confusing suddenly became clear. Tonight was the coldest night of winter so far this season, but it was like all of the ice around them had melted. Their kiss was nervous and awkward, but Minho pushed back, grabbing at Changbin’s neck, pulling him in closer and returning his kiss with a sense of urgency. 

Changbin suddenly pulled away, taking a step backwards and staring at Minho with wide, terrified eyes. He frantically remembered that if either party developed too deep an emotional connection with the other, that their agreement could be rendered null and void by the other party. An overwhelming panic at the possibility of an upheaval of his life — going back to a life without Minho — overtook him. Not for the loss of financial stability, but the loss of connection, the loss of friendship they had built over the years. 

His reaction was irrational, but the potential of heartbreak was so deafeningly  _ loud. _ It terrified and overwhelmed him, wrapping him in a bone-chilling embrace.

Minho took a cautious step forward, staring at Changbin and reaching out to him with a timid hand. “Changbin, love, please…”

“Minho,” Changbin looked up at him, shaking his head and nearly hyperventilating. He took a few steps backwards, watching a rapidly intensifying flurry of snow start to come between them. “Minho, I’m so sorry. This is all fucked up because of me. I shouldn’t have… Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

His legs moved before he could even acknowledge that he was running; running through Vancouver, running away from Minho, running like he could outrun the overwhelming rush of emotions he had tried to ignore for so long. Changbin had no idea where exactly he was, but he was maneuvering through alleyways and parking lots, backstreets and dead areas of town. He didn’t consciously know where he was, but he somehow knew where he was going. He got far enough away, all the way out to Harbour Green Park. The sight of the ocean in the distance calmed him down as he finally stopped running. 

Changbin slid on the slick grass, and he collided into the ground. He finally started hyperventilating, simply giving up and letting the inevitable tears fall from his face, down to the chilled ground beneath him. Time passed as he cried, incredibly upset with the situation, but mostly angry at himself.

The potential of heartbreak caused him to panic, and he responded by giving into that fear, literally running away from the man he claimed to love. It was stupid, really — throwing everything away just because of the possibility of discomfort, of facing reality. Before, there was a chance that Minho felt the same way. Now? Now Changbin had practically guaranteed that there was no possibility for that anymore. Perhaps knowing that he was the cause of the complete unravelling of two years of emotional connection hurt the most.

No. What hurt the most was that he desperately wanted Minho to catch him as he fell.


	3. dispensable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a simple message out of the blue, but the timing is too convenient.
>
>> hanji_yyz: i know you don't know me but i saw the article in the vancouver sun  
> hanji_yyz: there's a reason he's called the heartless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **chapter song recommendations:** "[M.I.A.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIRlA8D_Hg0)" by stray kids, "[santa monica](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TsPoj1gsjzk)" by savage garden, and "[pardon me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PXzuDXZwZtI)" by incubus.  
>  **chapter tags:** idk man, a lot of angst and changbin and minho being top-notch morons about their feelings. alcohol. implied sexual content and cheating, even though that's murky at best. i'll let you be the judge of that when you get the context.
> 
> merry christmas, y'all! this one's a mess!
> 
> * * *
> 
> **minor edits, 10 march 2021.**

A bit of sky peeked through the clouds, allowing Changbin to see a couple of stars between the snowflakes and the hazy orange and blues of Vancouver swallowed up in the clouds. Every little thing felt like memories of Minho haunting him no matter where he went.

“That cluster right there, look!” Minho’s voice was so loud, yet so foreign, like something from a dream. He had insisted that a group of stars looked like a cat when they were in Nanaimo over Thanksgiving weekend. Changbin didn’t see it then, but it was probably obvious. He hadn’t looked closely enough — he hadn’t been looking closely enough lately.

There were two stars in the gap between the clouds. One was just slightly above the other. So close, but barely out of reach.

Out of reach, just like Minho.

He wiped a few tears from his face, ignoring how cold the snow felt as it crept into the empty space between his waistline and the middle of his back. 

“You should be more careful.” The voice from yesterday was so loud, and it burned like acid. “I’d hate to see you slip and fall where I’m not around to catch you.” 

He wanted Minho there to catch his fall. 

Conversely, he didn’t want Minho around him at all.

“Fuck!” Changbin slammed his fist into the ground, an explosion of snow catapulting into the air as a result. Everything around him was cold, and his body was shivering. There were no tears left to cry at this point. All of his emotions felt like a contradictory whirlwind inside of him.

_ I love you, Minho. _

_ Fuck you, Minho. _

_ Never leave me, Minho. _

_ Leave me alone, Minho. _

Minho.

Minho, Minho,  _ Minho. _

Everything was dripping in varying shades of Minho.

The generic ringtone of Changbin’s phone pulled him out of his trance. He had half a mind to ignore it, but he just couldn’t. From the bottom of his heart, he wanted it to be Minho, just so he could spill whatever stupid thought came from his heart and mind next. As he brought his phone out from his back pocket, he squinted at the screen, stomach turning a bit as he saw Seungmin’s face and name on screen. Naturally, he accepted it without hesitation.

“Seung—”

“Where the fuck are you?”

Changbin blinked a couple of times, snow falling from his back as he sat upright.“What?”

“Dude, you’re lucky I only had a couple of drinks.” There was a pause as some indecipherable noises came through the tinny speaker of Changbin’s phone. “Minho came inside and practically pulled me away by the hair. He’s a fucking mess, by the way. It took a lot of effort to get him to calm down, saying he was going to go looking for you, that you both said some shit to each other.”

_ Well, fuck. _

“I…” Changbin was at a loss for words, like all of the air had been sucked out from his lungs.

“Where are you?”

“I’m… what the fuck?” The bluenette finally made his way fully upright, looking around and taking in his surroundings. “Harbour Green? How the fuck did I get all the way over here?”

“How  _ did _ you get all the way over there? Dude.”

A long, strained sigh escapes Changbin. “Seung… was he worried?”

Seungmin scoffed over the phone. “I am  _ not _ getting involved with this. You need to reach out to him and tell him you’re alive, Bin. I’m serious.”

“What’s it matter?”

“Would you fucking trust me on this? I’m hanging up. Call him, text him, ignore him — it’s up to you.”

Before Changbin could protest, the line went dead, and he was staring at his phone. Within seconds, the photo on his lock screen was staring back at him.

Minho. He was laughing at something, like he always did. He was wearing that simple beige sweater that Changbin loved on him. It was the one that had a fray on the hem by the inside tag. The one Minho never discarded, because Changbin loved it so much. It was soft and scratchy, made from wool. Soft and scratchy, just like Minho. That was Thanksgiving weekend, on the ferry back from Victoria. The weekend they pretended like they were normal boyfriends. The wind was blowing his hair around, sunlight wrapping his face in warmth.

Changbin really loved that photo of Minho, even though confusion tugged at him from a thousand different directions all at once. How long had they been so domestic and carefree with each other? When did the lines of their relationship start to blur and become murky? Why the fuck was this all so goddamned confusing?

No sooner than his phone went dark due to inactivity did it light back up with a notification.

> 23:09 | Minho: Changbin??

Oh. There were already a mass of messages from Minho, but he started texting Changbin again in a flurry.

> 23:09 | Minho: Please say something   
>  23:10 | Minho: I already asked Seungmin to go after you but   
>  23:10 | Minho: Fuck   
>  23:11 | Minho: Please stop ignoring my calls   
>  23:11 | Minho: Please don’t be dead in an alleyway   
>  23:11 | Minho: I love you, I really do

The last text made Changbin’s breath hitch in his throat. He tapped the message, opening it up and expanding all of the ones he had missed. His fingers trembled as he started typing up a response, ignoring the little bubble with an ellipsis that had popped up.

He was halfway through his text when he saw Minho’s response and stopped.

> 23:13 | Minho: you need to grow up and act like an adult because I will not let someone play with my emotions like a cat and a ball of yarn   
>  23:14 | Minho: i am not doing this again

_ Oh. _

Oh, that stung. “Fuck you too, then,” Changbin muttered under his breath with as much sarcasm as he could muster. He erased all of his apology, feeling stupid for even bothering.

> 23:15 | sent: wow   
>  23:15 | sent: I’m alive. Thanks for asking.    
>  23:16 | sent: that mature enough for you or do I need to throw in some big adult words to make it sound better?

_ That _ was bitchy. Unlike the last time he had lost his temper over text, though, Changbin felt like Minho deserved it this time. He figured that would be enough to get Minho off of his back until he had time to cool off, but his phone lit up with Minho’s face, vibrating to the pattern of the ringtone he had set for him.

Half of him wanted to scream in agony, and the other half wanted to answer the call. Against his better instincts to follow through and act maturely, though, Changbin pressed the side button on his phone, locking the screen and getting his ringtone to stop.

The tears had started prickling up in the corners of his eyes again. If this was supposed to be professional, why was Minho so dead set on bothering him? Why did it hurt so much? Why did he run away like a coward? Most of all, why was he infatuated with someone he could never actually have?

Changbin’s phone started to vibrate again, but the ringtone was different. He turned it around, and breathed a sigh of relief and nervousness as he answered it. “Seung?”

“I’m here. Where are you?”

Changbin shook his head, shakily making his way upright. ”I’ll be there in a sec, okay?”

They had agreed to talk in the car, but as soon as Changbin got in, he tossed his phone into the back seat, and simply stared out the window. Some more snow had started to fall, and Changbin was starting to resent the tiny particles of precipitation because, yet again, another thing reminded him of Minho.

* * *

Not long after they arrived at Changbin’s apartment, barely two steps into his door, and the bluenette started to break down. Something about being in the comfort of his own home caused him to finally release all of the tension he had built up. 

“Fuck!” Changbin shouted, tears streaming down his face. His hands trembled as he fumbled with the jacket buttons on his suit. “Seung, please,” he stuttered for a moment, starting to hyperventilate, reaching up to the lapels on the jacket. He was tugging at them haphazardly, like he was going to get the middle seam down the back of the suit to explode off of him. “I-I need your help. I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking  _ breathe!” _

Seungmin calmly reached down to the buttons, shushing Changbin in a soothing voice as he undid the buttons down his jacket. “It’s alright, it’s alright, Bin. Just take slow, deep breaths.”

“I don’t…” As soon as the buttons were undone, Changbin collapsed, colliding into Seungmin’s shoulder. “I fucked it up. I shouldn’t have run like that. God, why did I send him that last text? Minho is never going to forgive me and—“

“Changbin.”

“He probably doesn’t even care. I don’t know why I kissed him. I don’t know why I fell in love with him. Why do I love him? Why does he love me? Me, of all people? I’m just a stupid art student that’s emotionally stunted and I—“

“Changbin!” Seungmin practically shouted as he grabbed the older man’s shoulders, pushing him back a bit so that they made eye contact. “Stop it. Just  _ stop. _ Take a minute.”

“But, Seungmin, I…”

“You reacted. That’s all you did.”

Changbin stuttered a bit, trying to find the words to say as his phone went off for the nth time that night. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, but Seungmin snatched it as soon as it was within reach of his grasp. “It’s Minho, Seung.”

“You’re not thinking rationally. Give me a minute.” Seungmin took his phone and made his way to the door of Changbin’s apartment. He opened the door, answering the phone. “Minho. Yeah, it’s Seungmin.” His terse voice started fading away as footsteps receded off into the distance. “I’ve taken him home. Look, if you did something to hurt Changbin, I’m going to…”

Changbin wanted to follow him, but he instead sank to his knees, letting himself crumple into the floor. He stared at the ring that rested on his finger, all of the moments he shared with Minho staring back at him, reflecting in the shimmer of the diamonds. It felt like acid searing into his skin, yet he couldn’t bring himself to take it off. He looked at it, and it reminded him of all of the good memories they had together.

* * *

“Come on, Changbin!” Minho shouted with a whine, standing at the crest of Songhees Point, a spot on the ocean overlooking downtown Victoria and the harbour. Minho had scurried ahead, right up to the water, as Changbin tied his unravelled shoelaces. 

“Give me a sec, dude,” the younger man grumbled as he reoriented himself upright. He didn’t see the excitement of being at some touristy place he had been to a couple of times before as a kid, but he didn’t want to say no to Minho, not when he seemed so eager as he asked.

Minho spun on his heel as Changbin approached, turning to the open water. “Isn’t it amazing?”

Changbin looked around a bit, knitting his brows in confusion. “It’s the ocean,” he flatly stated, shrugging his shoulders a bit. “I’ve seen it before, I’ll see it again. Why are you so…?” He turned to look at Minho, who wasn’t really paying attention to Changbin’s lack of enthusiasm, and he lost any desire to protest.

His eyes, partially hidden behind the thin frames of his Saint Laurent sunglasses, were wide and still managed to shimmer with the reflections of sunlight shining off of the water beneath them. Minho’s mouth was slightly agape, lips curled up in a smile. “The fact that this is such a clusterfuck of a city, so much like Vancouver, where nothing ever seems to stop, and you can still come out here and get caught up in nature: it’s incredible.”

While the elder was transfixed in the view of the ocean, Changbin was entranced in the way eager looked on Minho’s face. He mentally made notes about the angles and grooves of his nose, his prominent cheekbones, the way his upper lip rested above his slightly crooked teeth as he smiled — he was plotting out how he could sketch Minho’s striking side profile and if he could possibly ever do it justice. Changbin loved art, and Minho was a walking exhibit, always in flux, but always available for him.

“I like this,” Minho sighed, turning to look at Changbin with a soft smile, reaching down to grab the younger man’s hand. “The moments where we’re just two normal people. Where nobody recognises me as Lee Minho. Where I’m not Minho, the Heartless. It’s just you and me out here, just a couple of nobodies that blend in, and it feels so nice.”

Changbin offered a soft smile in response, darting his eyes to the turquoise sheen of the ocean, trying not to feel overwhelmed with the sudden rush of endorphins bubbling up in his stomach. “I like this too, Minho.” His voice was meek and fragile. “I like that we’re normal people together.”

That was the first time that Changbin caught Minho looking at him for too long, where the expression on his face was completely unreadable. Now, several months into the future and several moments too late, Changbin realised it was probably a look of love.

* * *

At some point, Seungmin came back inside, folding his arms as he flopped down to the ground in front of Changbin. “You’re an idiot.”

Changbin scoffed, tipping his chin down into his chest. “Water is wet.”

“No,” Seungmin sighed in exasperation. “I mean, like, you  _ seriously _ fucked this up. Do you not realise how in love with you Minho is?”

“He shouldn’t be.”

“I swear to god, you are the dumbest fucking idiot.” Seungmin ran his hands through his hair and exhaled forcefully. “Has he ever cried in front of you?”

Changbin rolled over on to his back, then sat up, a look of perplexion painted on his face. “What?”

“Has he cried in front of you? Ever?”

The bluenette’s eyes squinted as he pursed his lips, darting his irises around as he thought. “Oh,” his eyes went wide, “he got teary-eyed once. One of the cats he followed on Instagram died. I remember he was really upset about that for a while.”

Seungmin blinked his eyes a couple of times, slowly knitting his brows. Eventually, he shakes his head. “No, like, okay, I guess that’s reasonable in some strange way. But has he ever cried or been really emotional with you?”

“No, not that I can think of.”

“Okay.” Seungmin took in a long, deep, calculated breath, scanning his eyes around the ceiling for a minute before he put his hands on Changbin’s knees and gripped them lightly. “He started off normally. Then I told him that you were — well, are — a mess.” The playful quip earned Seungmin a glare from Changbin. “That I found you crying in the snow, that I had to practically tear the suit jacket off of you because you couldn’t do it yourself.”

“Seriously?”

“I kind of embellished some of the more minor details” Changbin deadpanned, sighing and rolling his eyes at Seungmin. “Come on, dude, you’d do the same thing. I’m not gonna let some dude fuck with my best friend and break his heart, even though my best friend isn’t totally off the hook, either. Seriously, you sent him  _ that _ text? You sounded like a vindictive fifteen year old.”

“Can you fuck off? I  _ know _ it was a dumb text.”

“So you should apologise.”

There was a bit of a tense pause that hovered in the air. “You’re right.” Changbin reached his hand out for his phone, but Seungmin didn’t move.

“Don’t do it tonight, though. You’re both still too heated and it’d be best if you spent the night cooling off.” He let a moment pass before he eventually returned Changbin’s phone. “Seriously, if you don’t wanna fuck this up, just take a breather.”

“How are you so rational all the time? Your calmness scares me, dude.”

“I dunno, man.” Seungmin’s soft laughter filled the empty space between them. “Do you want me to stay here with you tonight, or are you going to be alright?”

Changbin waved his hands around dismissively. “I love you, but I kinda just wanna be alone.”

“It’s all good. It’s not like I’m too far away if you need me.” The younger man got up, offering a hand to the bluenette, who accepted it and pulled them both into a quick hug.

“Oh, so when it’s three in the morning and I’m wine drunk and halfway through  _ The Proposal—“ _

_ “Goodnight, _ Changbin,” Seungmin scoffed, turning around and opening the door to his apartment. “Text me when you wake up and wanna grab something to eat and we’ll talk shit about Minho.”

Changbin smiled to himself as he waved to Seungmin. “Sounds like a deal.”

* * *

The last thing Changbin wanted to do was check his phone right after he awakened, but, like the dirty habit it is to break, it was the first thing he did. He deliberately ignored his mass of texts, several emails, and other SNS notifications that slowly started to grow in number the longer he knew Minho. He felt like some weird quasi-celebrity, and it was unnerving. Instead of letting the chaos overwhelm him, he opened up Instagram to check to see what people were thinking about his most recent piece. 

What caught Changbin off guard was a message in his inbox. It wasn’t abnormal, usually from another art student or some dumb meme from Seungmin. For some reason, probably for a distraction, he tapped on the notification, opening it up. When he scanned the message over, his breath hitched in his throat and he forced himself to read it over a few more times, letting the full message sink in.

> hanji_yyz: I know you don’t know me but I saw the article in the vancouver sun and I needed to reach out   
>  hanji_yyz: look, minho isn’t as great as he probably seems   
>  hanji_yyz: minho is using you because he doesn’t love anyone   
>  hanji_yyz: there’s a reason he’s called the heartless

“What the fuck?” Changbin muttered to himself, barely functional enough to form a coherent sentence. “Who is this guy?” He didn’t bother responding, but he did go through the stranger’s instagram feed. Han Jisung, another artist, but based out of Toronto. 23. Does mostly street-inspired pieces, and they’re not bad. Hell, he was even verified.

Just when he was about to stop scrolling, he saw Minho. He saw Minho and Jisung  _ together. _ There’s evidence of dates, evidence of paintings inspired by Minho, evidence of a relationship. In one photo, Jisung is wearing a navy blue sweater that Changbin noticed in the back of Minho’s closet. The most recent photos of them are from a year before Changbin met Minho, and Changbin was too nauseated to continue scrolling through them.

“It’s a hellhole, really,” Changbin could hear Minho’s voice right in his ear. Minho hated Toronto for some reason, and things were starting to fall into place.

Fuck. He needed to go see Seungmin. 

Immediately.

* * *

> 06:37 | Minho: I know this is short notice, but you said you don’t have any plans for Thanksgiving weekend, right?

The text startled Changbin awake. He heard the ding of his notification and languidly pulled his body over to his nightstand. It took a second, but he was able to sleepily wrap his fingers around his phone, fumbling around to unlock it and somehow shoot off a reply.

> 06:40 | sent: it’s 6 am min   
>  06:41 | Minho: I know I know, 20 minutes before your alarm, sorry.   
>  06:41 | Minho: Anyway, plans?

Changbin groaned, rolling over on to his back as he brought his phone above his head.

> 06:43 | sent: i never have plans for the weekend   
>  06:43 | sent: especially the holidays   
>  06:44 | sent: you know me by now 

Minho didn’t instantly respond, which allowed Changbin to slowly drift back off into a state that barely resembled sleep. Fifteen minutes later, his alarm went off right in his ear, phone still in his hand while his nose was nestled into the crook of his elbow.

“Fuck!” He shouted, a jolt running through his body as he went temporarily deaf in his left ear. It took him a minute to catch his breath and turn his alarm off, but there was another bundle of texts from Minho awaiting him as he dismissed the alarm.

> 06:47 | Minho: Okay, so I’ve got an idea.   
>  06:48 | Minho: You can absolutely say no, but I thought it’d be fun to take the ferry to Nanaimo for the weekend. Maybe take the long way back home, drive down Highway 1, stop in Victoria, then take the ferry up to Tsawwassen.    
>  07:00 | Minho: Morning love, respond to my texts now that you’ve gotta get ready please. 

Nanaimo. For a while, it was home, in some ways, but it was primarily the source of a lot of misery for Changbin. He decided not to linger on it, and just take the leap. Minho would probably make it interesting enough to distract him from the bad memories that would crop up. The older man always had a knack for distracting Changbin and occupying his thoughts.

He stumbled his way out of bed, to the washroom with his phone in his hand.

> 07:03 | sent: sounds nice   
>  07:04 | sent: any specifics or is this just something last minute?

As Changbin set his phone down to brush his teeth, he got another text notification from Minho.

> 07:06 | Minho: Nothing specific.   
>  07:06 | Minho: What kind of boyfriend, albeit fake, would I be if I didn’t wanna spend time with you?

Changbin deliberately turned away from the mirror, toothbrush hanging from his upturned lips as he tapped away on his phone.

> 07:07 | sent: i’d say that’d be pretty shitty of you tbh, fake boyfriend or not   
>  07:08 | Minho: See?   
>  07:08 | Minho: Okay, pack a bag and I’ll pick you up after your last studio of the day. Should be able to catch the 18:35 departure as long as we’re walk-ons.   
>  07:09 | sent: oh? not gonna take your precious tesla?   
>  07:10 | Minho: It’s a holiday weekend. We’d never get on the damn ferry if we took my car. Besides, I just wanna pretend to be normal people. Nobodies that blend in.   
>  07:11 | sent: ok then i’ll pack two regular black trash bags we can cut holes in and wear over your tacky designer shit   
>  07:11 | sent: i promise nobody will notice us   
>  07:12 | Minho: Very avant-garde, love. And matching. Cute.

_ Cute. _ He would never admit it out loud, but that was probably Changbin’s favourite part of their playful banter. They were cute at times like this, the moments where they accidentally threw the ‘professional’ aspect of their relationship out of the window. These moments felt so real, so cravingly good.

It was going to burn Changbin eventually, but maybe the good times would outweigh the eventual pain in the process.

* * *

“Why do you never talk about your family?” Minho sighed, grabbing Changbin’s hand as they merged on the highway, southbound out of Nanaimo. “Like, I mean, you don’t need to tell me everything about them or anything, but you’ve literally never brought them up. Didn’t you say your mom lived here or something?”

Changbin nibbled on his lip, aimlessly running his thumb against Minho’s hand. “My family…”

Minho fumbled with the steering wheel, pushing a button a few times to lower the volume of the music in the background. “Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered, trying to get Changbin to look at him. Minho let go of Changbin’s hand to cup the younger man’s face. “Binnie, love, you don’t have to talk about them just because I brought them up. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind telling you, Min.” The younger man shook his head, then turned to look out the window. “My mother was really abusive. An alcoholic. I used art to escape the confines of reality I felt trapped in, and she hated it, which, ironically, made me run to it more.”

“Jesus.” Minho huffed, dropping his hand back down to Changbin’s thigh, running his fingers around to grab the younger man’s hand, interlacing their fingers together.

The bluenette winced a bit as he stared out the window. “I don’t really care, though. My dad eventually divorced her, leaving her here, and took me back to Vancouver. She died right before I graduated high school. Then my dad, he…” A couple of tears lazily rolled down Changbin’s face, but the younger man didn’t acknowledge them. “I was going to put off school to help take care of him after he got sick, but he made me swear to never settle, not even for him.”

“Changbin,” Minho started, ready to apologise for something unnecessarily. 

“So, I didn’t.” There was a sharp, shaky inhale as Changbin cut Minho off. “He died, too. Not long after I started university. I had just finished up finals, and we were making plans for Christmas, and then I got to the hospital to go see him. He held on long enough to tell me he was proud of me and that he loved me… and then, he was gone. Just like that.”

The air grew cold and tense as words eluded them both.

“Changbin, I—“

“You know the worst part of it all?” The younger man sarcastically scoffed and leaned back into his seat. “I immediately went to see my boyfriend, Felix, and he was in bed with some dude I recognised from our Intro to Art History class. Merry fucking Christmas to me, I guess.” He turned to look towards Minho, his face void of expression. “I don’t let anyone in anymore. Everyone either dies or hurts me in the process. So, when you approached me about this whole,” he paused, waving his free hand in the air in a circle-like pattern, “I don’t know, situation? Whatever this is, it seemed perfect. I was lonely, but I didn’t want a relationship.”

The way that Changbin deliberately chose to say “didn’t” instead of “don’t” echoed in the back of his head, his brows furrowing. Perhaps he was finally starting to loosen up, maybe let Minho in a little more, if that’s what he wanted. He turned his head slightly, trying not to obviously stare at Minho. There were so many complexities between the two of them; treading the waters of what exactly they were was starting to prove to be difficult.

Minho looked as if he was desperately trying to figure out the right words to say, but nothing came to fruition. They sat in silence, nothing but the ambient noises from the rental car and some of the background music filling the void. Fifteen minutes passed, and they made their way through a small oceanside town.

“Hey,” Minho perked up at the first stoplight, turning to flash a smile at Changbin. “We specifically decided to take the long way home, yeah? Victoria’s, like, an hour away. The weather’s nice, the highway’s clear, neither of us have plans for a stat holiday for once.”

“And?” Changbin bit back a smirk, turning to look out the window to hide the blush creeping up on his face.

Minho let go of Changbin’s hand and pat his thigh, offering him a bit of a squeeze. “There’s this place I love downtown. You can see the harbour and, on a good day, at least, you can see Port Angeles way off in the distance.”

The bluenette shrugged and gave the brunette a half-smirk. “I dunno, I might have plans.”

“You never have plans,” Minho scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Changbin placed his hand over Minho’s and tried to hide a grin. “I do now. Just with you.”

* * *

“Wait, love,” Minho stepped out of the car, hastily walking around the vehicle to stop Changbin before he took off into his apartment building. They stood just a few centimetres apart from each other, staring each other in the eyes. A slight smile crept up on Minho’s face as his eyes glimmered. He pulled Changbin into his chest, then brought a hand up to the back of his head. “Thanks for spending the weekend and Thanksgiving with me, Changbin. I…”

The air was thick with tension as Minho gathered his thoughts. Changbin looked around frantically, worried that Minho was about to say something overly dramatic. If Minho were to say something about them, something intimate, how would he have reacted? Did he want them to be something more?

“I just really want you to know that I appreciate you.” His voice was soft and tender, low as he whispered into Changbin’s ear. The bluenette could feel the hairs on the side of his neck prickle up as Minho breathed. “I know this is a professional thing, but I consider you a friend. Thank you for being vulnerable and opening up to me.”

Changbin should have pulled away, but he brought his arms up, taking fistfuls of Minho’s sweater into his hands. The scent of bergamot and mandarin was so prominent from this close, and Changbin wanted to drown himself in it, drown himself in the entirety of Minho. He took in a deep inhale, then turned his head slightly to bring his lips closer to Minho’s ear. “Thank you for everything, Minho. I appreciate you more than you know.”

They pulled away from each other slightly, their faces still so close to each other. Changbin could feel the warmth from Minho’s face emanating onto his. His heartbeat thrummed so hard against his chest, because he was familiar with this feeling. This was one of those pin-drop moments that was in the movies, right before the love interests kissed.

_ Strictly professional, Changbin. _

“I should let you go, since you have a day full of studio blocks tomorrow.” Minho’s words didn’t match his actions. If he wanted to let Changbin go, he should have. He should have stepped away, yet he didn’t. 

“Yeah,” Changbin breathed, his hands clammy and starting to sweat a bit. “I’m really busy tomorrow. It was a long weekend. Should probably go shower and go straight to bed.”

“You should.”

_ Strictly professional, right? _

They stood there, staring into each other’s eyes, waiting for the other to make a move. It felt like time had frozen, that the hustle and bustle of Vancouver had drifted off into the abyss behind them. There was nothing else in the world except for Minho and Changbin, and the space between them.

Minho was the first to move. “Yeah,” he stepped backwards, out of Changbin’s grasp, causing the younger man to instantly feel cold. “I can’t keep you.”

_ You  _ should _ keep me. _

“You’re right.”

_ I’m wrong. _

“Still want to go on our regular date tomorrow, or are you going to be too tired?”

_ I don’t want a regular date.  _

“Yeah, I’d love that. Normal time and place?”

_ I want you. _

“Like always, love.” Minho took a couple of awkward steps towards his car, and Changbin started towards his trek up the stairs of his complex.

“See you tomorrow, Minho.” Changbin turned his back fully to Minho, staring at the ground as he walked. 

…strictly professional. It was  _ always _ supposed to be professional.

As he waited for the elevator, Changbin tapped away on his phone. Three hundred and seven kilometres, give or take. Vancouver to Nanaimo to Victoria to Vancouver. Changbin stared at the drunken diamond shape the GPS path made on his phone when he looked up the route. It was the longest trip he had been on since he was a child, and it was with  _ Minho. _

Minho deliberately chose the long road trip at the end of their weekend. At first, Changbin just assumed Minho wanted to stop and check in on his galleries in Victoria, but they never got remotely close to them. There was the walk around the harbour, watching the sunset from the rooftop lounge in the hotel they were in, there was the wine-drunk laughing and crying in bed as they reminisced. It was obvious that Minho only wanted to spend more time with Changbin, and the younger man didn’t know how that realization sat with him.

Changbin wanted to spend that time with Minho, too, he just didn’t realise how much he wanted to be around him until after he was alone in his apartment again, settling into bed and trying to mentally prepare himself for his Tuesday morning studio block.

That’s when the idea for his final senior piece hit him. He bolted out of bed, stumbling out of bed and towards the front door. He slipped his shoes on, grabbed his keys and a jacket, and practically ran out of the door, still in his pyjamas. 

His main piece would be the muse that ate up all of his thoughts. The man that ate up all of his time when they were and weren’t together. 

Minho. It had to be Minho, everything was Minho, it just made  _ sense. _

_ professional: in an arrangement of black.  _ It was only fitting.

* * *

“Toronto? Who the fuck is this guy?” Seungmin pored over Changbin’s phone as the older man nervously paced back and forth.

“That’s what I want to know!”

“Man,” Seungmin sighed as he tossed Changbin’s phone onto his coffee table. “I don’t know who this Jisung guy is, but the fact that he’s got so many photos with Minho? I think he’s an ex.”

Changbin carded his hands through his hair, then scoffed. “No shit, they’re exes. What gave that away?” He made his way to the empty spot on the couch next to Seungmin, grabbing his phone as he unceremoniously flopped down onto the cushion. “What the fuck does he mean by ‘there’s a reason he’s called The Heartless’, anyways? Minho’s The Heartless because of his criticism, right?”

Seungmin shrugged in response. “I dunno, dude. You gonna talk to him?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“You sure you’re calm enough to talk to an ex, though?”

“I don’t know, man,” Changbin shrugged, unlocking his phone and staring at the message on Instagram. “But I do know I don’t really wanna talk to Minho about it.” Before he really sat back and thought through it, he was already tapping away a response.

> seolar_cb: why should i trust you?

Seungmin leaned over Changbin’s shoulder, scanning the message as he typed. “You sure that’s a good idea?” 

“Is  _ any _ of this a good idea?” Changbin retorted, rolling his eyes as he set his phone on the table. “I’m gonna automatically scrutinise anything he says, because he’s probably just a bitter ex.”

Seungmin grunted in affirmation as he rested his head on Changbin’s shoulder. “You gonna reach out to Minho today?”

“I dunno, dude,” Changbin sighed, resting his head against the back of Seungmin’s couch. “I’m mad at him and I’m mad at myself. I feel like no matter what I do, I’m gonna fuck this up.”

“You need to talk to Minho. An open line of communication is the only way around this, man.”

Changbin pursed his lips, about to say something, when his phone vibrated. It was another message from Jisung.

> hanji_yyz: nobody said you had to trust me, but minho is a heartless bastard. he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. i dated him for two years and he was nothing but cold the whole time.

Something about Jisung’s message didn’t sit right with Changbin. Nothing but cold the whole time? Minho had been nothing but warm and kind to Changbin. Was it because of the dynamics of their relationship, the fact that they weren’t technically in a relationship at all? Changbin tried to rack his brain for a reasonable response, but nothing made sense. Something about Jisung wasn’t right, but he wasn’t sure what exactly it was.

> seolar_cb: ok

“That’s all you’re gonna say?” Seungmin frowned as he looked at Changbin’s phone.

“Man,” Changbin sat up, playfully elbowing Seungmin in the side. “I don’t know what to say to him. He sounds like a jealous ex. I mean, think about it.” he brought up his left hand, ring still on his finger, “I got a ring after two years, and we’re not even dating. Minho’s been nothing but sweet to me, and he was nothing but cold to Jisung? I dunno, dude, it’s not adding up.”

Seungmin shrugged. “I’d say go with your gut instinct, but I also think you should just bite the bullet and talk to Minho.”

The bluenette nibbled at his bottom lip, staring at his phone, then staring at his ring. He really should talk to Minho, but he wasn’t sure what exactly he should say. What could he even say at this point?

* * *

Changbin never reached out to Minho. He hadn’t spoken to Minho all week, and it was killing him. He was mad at Minho for not reaching out, but he was perhaps angrier with himself for being a bit of a petulant, stubborn nuisance about the whole situation. Deep down, he didn’t feel like he deserved to talk to Minho after running away and reacting the way he did. 

Last Friday, everything was mostly fine. Minho had picked him up, had caught him when he pretended to slip off of the podium, and they were back to normal. 

Now, it was Friday afternoon and Changbin was lost in thought as he walked back to his apartment. He spent the last block of the day staring at the project he had been working on for his senior exhibit, the greyscale portrait of Minho that he was going to give him after the exhibit as an engagement gift. It was initially crafted with love, but now it had turned into some strange concoction made from love, confusion, and resentment. 

It was February. He still had three months before his exhibit so, theoretically, he could start a new main piece, but he had been working on this since Thanksgiving Monday back in October. As much as he hated it, Changbin was in too deep to start over.

As he walked, he scrolled through Instagram. There hadn’t been anything new from Minho in three weeks. Changbin hadn’t posted since the engagement party, either. The last thing that was on his feed was a photo of his lips on Minho’s cheek, a photo that Seungmin had taken for him specifically for Instagram.

_ Muse. _ He captioned the photo like it was a title for some witty art piece, but it just came off as bitter and distasteful now. 

Changbin was frustrated. He locked his phone, shoving it into his hoodie pocket and pulled his scarf up over his mouth and nose. Seungmin was busy tonight with work, so he had nothing to do on Friday night for the first time in what felt like years. Sure, he could go back to the studio and work on some of his pieces for his capstone exhibit, but nothing felt right.

A car drove past him on the sidewalk, bass pounding in the confines of the small vehicle, and that’s when an idea hit him. Why not go to one of the clubs downtown to people watch? Coffee shops, bars, clubs, restaurants: they were all great places to observe humans in their natural environments. It might have been a good distraction from everything, too.

Changbin shrugged to himself as he pondered the idea. He’d have enough time to shower, make himself look presentable, then catch public transit to get downtown.

“Fuck it,” he grumbled into his scarf. Might as well go out and forget the discomfort for a little while.

* * *

“Why did I do this to myself?” Changbin muttered to himself as he sat at the bar, on his third or fourth vodka tonic of the night. He wasn’t really paying close attention to how much he was drinking as he lost himself, watching the crowds of people and imagining stories of their lives in his head. There were a handful of couples that walked around, lots of small friend groups, lots of single people.

How many broken hearts were in the sea of nobodies here?

The night had been going smoothly, the alcohol numbing Changbin’s thoughts for a while, but Minho eventually snuck back into his head. Minho hated clubs. “Too many people, too much fake energy,” he had told Changbin one night. “Not really worth the potential inspiration unless I’m really desperate.”

“Too many people,” Changbin repeated, bringing his drink to his lips, finishing it off before resting the glass on the table a bit clumsily. One more drink, he figured, then he’d make his way back to his apartment and drunkenly sketch something out.

“You look like you’ve had a rough day,” a voice comes up next to Changbin, as a younger man with platinum blonde hair sat down next to him. He eyes the ring on Changbin’s finger and smirks. “Spouse giving you grief?”

“What?” Changbin squinted, cocking his head a bit.

“Nobody comes here when they’re happy with their lives,” the blonde shrugged. “You want another one? I’ll listen to you.”

Changbin should have grabbed his jacket and left, but it felt like he was stuck in one spot. “Fiancé, I think,” he sighed, staring at his ring, lost in the rose gold grooves between the diamonds. “I don’t know what we are anymore, honestly.”

The mysterious blonde nodded his head at the bartender and looked at Changbin. “Guess it’s a good thing you’re here. You won’t find the answer to whatever your question is, but you might find something out about yourself in the process.”

He should have left, but the way the neon lights bounced off of the blonde’s hair kept Changbin entranced. One more drink wouldn’t hurt, right?

* * *

The nightstand that Changbin stared at wasn’t the nightstand he had at home. There was a throbbing sensation in the front of his head as he slowly roused, a deep-seated feeling of uneasiness growing as he took in his surroundings.

This was not his bedroom.

This was not Minho’s bedroom.

There was a platinum blonde stranger scrolling through his phone in bed next to him.

“Hey,” he smiled, his voice low as he barely looked away from his phone. “You said your name was Changbin, right?”

Oh fuck. Oh no, no,  _ no.  _

“No offence, but…” Changbin wincesd grabbing his forehead as he spoke. Minho used to make sure that Changbin’s hangovers weren’t bad. Minho wasn’t here, but he was still the first thing on Changbin’s mind. “Who are you?”

The younger man sheepishly grinned. “Jeongin. Yang Jeongin. You remembered for a while last night, but…” His voice trailed off as he locked his phone. “I don’t know who Minho is, but the next time you go home with a stranger, you might wanna make sure you’re totally over your ex, or whatever he is to you.”

He looked down at the younger man, staring at the purple bruises blooming on his neck. Memories of the night started rapidly flooding in at the sight. 

“Yang Jeongin,” Changbin had breathed against the blonde’s lips as he pinned him down against his beige comforter. “You’ve got a nice name.” He ground his hips down against the younger man beneath him, nipping and biting against the soft flesh of his neck, eliciting a soft squeal from Jeongin. 

“Seo Changbin,” Jeongin’s voice quivered as he pushed up against the older man. “Are you gonna keep talking sweet words to me, or are you gonna do something useful with that mouth?”

Changbin had pulled back and flashed his teeth with a grin. “You didn’t seem to be complaining when my mouth was buried in your neck.”

No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. He didn’t sleep with this stranger. He didn’t cheat on Minho. He didn’t try to drown his misery by getting dicked down by someone he didn’t know. This couldn’t be happening. 

This was a dream, right?

“Oh my god,” Changbin said to himself, shaking his head, trying to rid the memories from his head. “I’m sorry, I need to go home.”

“Alright,” the younger man shrugged his shoulders. “Saved my number in your phone if you want another mindless fuck. I’m usually available on the weekends.”

Changbin didn’t bother saying anything else as he stumbled his way around the room, haphazardly putting his clothes back on, gathering up his things. His head was pounding and he felt sick. Part of the nausea came from the hangover, but most of it was the looming sense of regret he felt for going home with a stranger and revenge-fucking his anger out instead of acting more like an adult.

_ You need to grow up and act like an adult. I am not doing this again.  _ Minho’s voice was so loud in his head yet again. Did this count as cheating? Would Minho even forgive him for this, regardless? Fuck, did they even use protection? Was this stranger even clean?

He made his way out of Jeongin’s apartment and somehow navigated himself to the elevator and out of the apartment complex. Changbin got to the edge of the property, and the combination of the sunlight, the elevator moving, and the entire situation at hand had proven to be too much. The minimal contents of his stomach violently made its way up through his throat and spilled out onto the grass. 

Perhaps the tears were from getting sick, but the fact that an overwhelming sense of guilt blanketed him played a bigger factor into the crying. Changbin stopped vomiting, but he couldn’t stop crying. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, ignoring the thousands of notifications flooded on his screen, and he called Seungmin. 

It took two rings before Seungmin picked up. “Seung, I need you. I think I’m somewhere downtown and I fucked up. Fuck. I fucked up big time.”

“Changbin,” the younger man sighed, a lengthy pause growing between them. “I know.”

“What?” Changbin caught his breath and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. 

Seungmin took in a deep breath. “Oh, god. Did you just wake up?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You haven’t checked your notifications?”

“No, Seungmin, I’ve been fucking preoccupied!”

“Shit.” Seungmin sighed. “You went home with Yang Jeongin of all people?”

Changbin’s blood ran cold and all of the colour fell from his face. “How do you know that?”

“Goddammit. Well…” The younger man was hesitating, his voice had gotten smaller. “There was an article in a tabloid and it blew up. Here, I’m gonna send you the article while I get my keys.”

Within seconds, there was a message from Seungmin, and the article title made Changbin nauseated. ‘Lee Minho: Truly Heartless? Mysterious Fiancé Has Side Lover?’. There was a photo of Jeongin and Changbin leaving the club they were at the night prior, along with a couple of candid photos where they were handsy with each other at the bar. 

“I don’t wanna read it, Seungmin.” Tears started falling as Changbin’s heart fell into his stomach. 

“Trust me, you’re going to want to.”

“Why, though?”

“You remember Han Jisung, Minho’s ex from Toronto?”

Why the fuck was Jisung being brought up at a time like this? The nausea was building up with intensity again. This had to have been a dream, there was no way that this was actually happening. “Yeah, why?”

There was a tense pause over the line as Seungmin sighed. “Jeongin is Jisung’s brother.”

Changbin dropped his phone as the searing bile came up again. 

This wasn’t a dream. This was a fucking nightmare that had come to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feelings, feelings, feelings! payoff soon? perhaps!
> 
> as changbin says, "merry fucking christmas to me." happy holidays! :)

**Author's Note:**

> consider leaving a comment. they make my day. ♡


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